Why do my kids loathe sleep?

I freaking love sleep. Like to a T. I adore it.

I was that dork in college who was in bed by 10pm. For real.

My children, however, do not share this passion of mine. They loathe sleep. Hate it. Despise it.

It makes me want to cry. Or club baby seals. Or laugh at the melting glaciers, because then I feel a little better. I know. I'm sick. Twisted. But I'm okay with that. Whatever keeps me trekking, I say.

Three and half hours. That's how long J and I have been tag-teaming it. And yet both of my kids are still awake. Still on and off screaming. Still crying for whatever parent is not currently with them. Still hating the world of dreamland.

Whatever.

That's what kid's say, "Whatever." Because if they said "Fuck you" or "Fuck this" they'd probably get their mouths washed out with soap.

So I'm saying whatever. Whatever to sleep.

Because it hates me.

So I hate it.

Because that's the awesome 12-year-old mentality I have towards it right now.

Oh, and this is not due to children being jet-lagged. I wish I could blame it on that. That'd be awesome. Great. Fan-freaking-tastic. But I can't.

This is the norm.

I'm not advocating anyone sleep-train their bundle of sunshines. In fact, I'm pretty morally opposed to it. But I get it. I really do. I understand why people do that. They like their sleep. Like me.

Ah...sleep...

Whatever.