I warm up a can of Spaghetti-O’s for Tyler’s lunch, but he barely eats half the bowl. Instead, he sits with his head propped up, eyes drooping, spoon half-forgotten as he swirls the noodles around lazily. “Come on, kid,” I say, taking away the bowl. “You’re fading fast.”
He lashes out. “I am not! I’m not tired!”
Yeah, right. “Well, I am,” I tell him. “You don’t have to go to sleep, but you have to stay in your room, okay? Lights off, door closed.”
“I’m not tired!” he says again, shouting this time. Tears shine in his eyes.
Tired? No. He’s exhausted. Dark circles ring his eyes and he’s moody, which tells me he needs some sleep. “Hup, kiddo,” I say, scooping him out of his seat.
He tries to wriggle free but can’t. “Daddy! No nap! I want to play the Wii!”
“It’ll still be in the living r
