>Goodbye, Naptime. Goodbye, Sanity.

>This month marks a major milestone in the life of our girl Punky Ferrier.

She no longer needs a nap.

Now, she will still go to sleep if I put her down for a nap.

But she will also stay up all night long, knocking on the walls to get our attention, making endless requests for a visit to the bathroom or another light turned on in the hallway or a drink of milk, until we’re about ready to lose our freakin’ minds.

Therefore, naptime has been replaced with “quiet time.”

It’s a concept five-year-old Punky is having some trouble grasping.

“Now remember, Punky,” I tell her each afternoon after putting her brother down, “This is quiet time. This is the time when you can either watch a movie or play a computer game or play quietly while Bruiser sleeps and Mommy gets her work done. If you can’t have quiet time, then we’re going to have to go back to nap time.”

“Okay, Mommy,” she promises solemnly. “I can be quiet.”

And it’s true. She can be quiet. At least for five minutes. Then, it’s…

“MOMMY!!!”

“Shhhh,” I say, running into the den. “Your brother is sleeping. What is it?”

“I just found the coolest thing on Bella Sara!” she shrieks. “Come read it to me.” The guilt begins to gnaw at me.

“Okay,” I say, “but remember, this is Mommy’s work time.”

“Okay, Mommy,” Punky says. “Just this one thing.”

I read the computer screen aloud, then return to the kitchen. A few more minutes pass.

“Mommy, can I have some ice cream?”

It’s her again. I stop typing.

“Yes.” Quickly, I put a scoop of ice cream in a small bowl and place it before her at the table.

“Where’s the caramel and the chocolate syrup?” she demands. Silently, I curse her caramel-and-chocolate-syrup-serving father and root through the fridge until I find the squeeze bottles. I put a dollop of both on top of her ice cream, and lick a glob of chocolate off my finger.

“We’re both chocolate people,” Punky giggles.

“Yes, we are,” I smile. I continue typing. Four more minutes pass.

“Mommy, I want to play Silver Stables now,” Punky says.

“Okay,” I say distractedly. “Have fun.”

“But I need you to find it for me.”

I look up. I frown. I close my eyes for one long moment.

“Okay,” I say. I head up to the playroom. Five minutes later, I’ve found Silver Stables and loaded it into our Playstation. Perhaps now I can actually get some work done.

“MOMMY!” Punky calls from the playroom.

“WHAT?!” I yell back.

“I really need your help!”

I go to the bottom of the stairs. “Punky,” I say with as much patience as I can muster, “remember how this is supposed to be quiet time? Only you’re not letting your Mommy get very much work done.”

Punky pauses. “But I really need your help,” she says, with crocodile tears fairly dripping from each word. I grit my teeth.

“Coming,” I mutter, going back up the stairs.

And that’s a typical afternoon at the Ferrier house. Where once, I was able to laze on the sofa and tap-tap-tap away to my heart’s content (for an hour and a half, anyway), now I am fitting my writing time in between finding Plaque Monster’s Tunnel on the Internet (I’m now HATING that time a year ago when I came up with “Tooth Safety Week!!”) and locating Rapunzel’s other slipper.

I’d ordinarily have a final thought to add here… but I’ve got to go help Punky get her magnetic paper dolls out of the closet.

This post originally appeared on Parents.com.