Busted at Bedtime

Even though it seems that my kids are incapable of consistently using an alarm clock to get out of bed on time in the morning, at least bedtime around our house is pretty straightforward and efficient. I have definitely learned from past mistakes and therefore the bedtime routine has been streamlined more and more with each kid. It's similar to something I heard once about kids and baths: The first kid gets a bath every day, the second kid gets a bath a few times a week, and the third kid gets sent outside when it rains.

Zoe's bedtime lasts, on average, about five minutes. This includes occasionally flossing, always brushing, peeing, turning on the requisite nightlight and white noise, a quick kiss on the forehead and then shutting the door. (No, I do not actually lock it because some dreams are meant to remain just that: dreams.) Most of the time, she goes to sleep without a peep, but occasionally there is a plea for a glass of water or the need to kill an invisible bug that is supposedly lurking on her ceiling. Last night, however, falling asleep was delayed by a flying tea party.

**Just for clarification, Zoe hates most toys that are girly and I was shocked that she even allowed this tea party set in her room. But then I discovered that she doesn't host typical tea parties, judging by the fact that at one party, after Fluffy White Kitty repeatedly told Floppy Pink Bunny to eat her lunch, Fluffy White Kitty lost her temper and said "Just eat the freakin' food, stupid!" We're currently working on her hostess skills.

No sooner had I shut her door and plopped my ass on the couch when I heard a loud CRASH come from her room. Since it wasn't immediately followed by shrieks of pain, I knew that she was fine -- physically, anyway.

When I opened the door, she was sitting on her knees with her arms outstretched and her wood tea party set was scattered all over the floor. "Look at this! What a mess!" she proclaimed, like the tea party suddenly became animated all on it's own and went flying through the air.

After a few failed explanations that included phrases like "The saucer almost made me fall out of bed" and "I wasn't exactly jumping, more like moving up and down" she decided to play the crying card and burst into tears. I said yeah, well, you should probably quit crying because the only reason you're sad is because you got busted. She wailed "I know! I hate getting busted! Being busted is no fun!"

Since so many people have said things like "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree" and "like mother, like daughter," something tells me that this is not the last time I will be hearing this phrase from her.

I'm Too Predictable

These are things that I would be perfectly happy never having to say again for the rest of my life. Okay, maybe six months. Yeah, one month would be just about perfect. In fact, I'd be happy to have two weeks off from saying any (or all) of these phrases:

Zoe eat your breakfast.

What? Another science project?

Stop climbing on the back of the couch.

Yes, you need to wear a coat.

No you cannot have a snack right now.

No I am not buying you candy.

No I am not buying you a stuffed animal.

Zoe eat your lunch.

Stop asking me to buy everything you see.

Stay away from the dog's butt.

Please don't stand right behind me.

Please don't fart on your brother.

Seriously! Who does that?!

Stop using your shirt to wipe your mouth.

Really, that's okay, I didn't want any help anyway.

Did anyone feed the dog?

Zoe stop singing and eat your dinner.

You need to cut your fingernails.

Please go to bed.

Not later, now. I said go to bed now.

I really meant it. GO TO BED.

Yeah, you probably are hungry. Maybe you should have ate dinner.

Stop telling me things while the hair dryer is on.

What do you mean the dog crapped on the floor!

Please don't forget. Seriously, don't forget.

What do you mean you forgot?

What do you mean you lost it?

What do you mean we're out of vodka?

The Competitive Bedtime

When Zach was little, his bedtime was an elaborate production that included a bath, three stories read in exactly the same order using the exact same tone of voice, a bizarre script of "bye I love you night night" chanted in a well-rehearsed tempo, and placing a certain stuffed animal by the door. If any of this ridiculous routine was done incorrectly, all hell would break loose and we'd have to start the entire process over again. Needless to say, not many people jumped at the opportunity to get this kid to sleep.

Charlie, on the other hand, loved his bed and we never had the need to do a nightly bath or bedtime routine. He never made a single request for a glass of water or one more story, and would happily collapse into his bed and read Spiderman comic books. There were quite a few times when I snuck into his room after he was asleep to turn off his light and peel the comic book off of his sweaty face, leaving a faint outline of The Green Goblin on his forehead.

Zoe's bedtime usually goes fine, but since she knows that everyone else is still awake and having fun after she's in bed, she sometimes tries to stall. Since she is our third kid and I usually have other things to do after 8pm, I refuse to allot more than ten minutes from when the phrase "It's bedtime" is uttered to when I shut her door. Considering the fact that I've just spent most of the day with her and really need her to just go to bed, quite a few nights involve some raised voices. In fact, sometimes I even yell.

Since she is so competitive, I've decided to incorporate her hatred of losing into bedtime. All it takes is for me to say: "Hey, I bet you can't get your teeth brushed, go to the bathroom, get pajamas on, and get in bed without yelling or whining. I'll bet you end up being naughty at some point before I shut your door. And when you do, I'm going to be the winner. And I love to win."

"No way! I'm going to win! There's no way I'm going to be naughty!" The first night she said this, I thought I was a genius. Why hadn't I been doing this all along?

Sure enough, she let me chisel the hunks of Sour Patch Kids off of her teeth without objecting. She used the bathroom without me having to ask her four times. She put her pajamas on while singing a Lady GaGa song. When she was under the covers, she looked at me and said: "Ha. I win, you lose. Told ya so. Good night."

"Yep, you beat me. I lost. But tomorrow night I'm going to win." Six minutes, start to finish.

This continued for a few nights, and it started feeling a little too rehearsed. I decided to give the whole competition angle a break, and wanted to see if maybe she'd been conditioned into just behaving for the sake of being good, rather than just to win. When we got to the bathroom, she picked up her toothbrush, looked at me and said: "It's fine. You can win. I've already won a whole lot of times. Oh, and GIVE ME THE TOOTHPASTE I CAN DO IT MYSELF!"

The Sacrifices We Make

Last night was a demonstration of how my husband and I are willing to step in and do the responsible thing, not be selfish, and put our own lives aside. I'm tearing up now just thinking of about it.

After Zach won his tennis match, we were going to stop somewhere on the way home for a Friday night beer and let the kids hang out with us. Then, since not everyone appreciates being at a bar with 3 kids coughing in harmony, we realized that this maybe wasn't the best idea. Nothing ruins happy hour more than getting nasty looks from a bunch of drunks and having the occasional lime wedge chucked at your head. Plus, it was time for Zoe's evening dose of antibiotic.

So then the plan changed to racing home, giving Zoe a mild sedative and putting her to bed, and leaving Zach to babysit while we went out without them. While this seemed like an easy task to pull off, we ran into a couple snags. The fact that Zoe wouldn't stop galloping around the house singing a song about "ride 'em cowboy in Texas, horses horses horses" at the top of her lungs delayed her bedtime. Also, we were both ready for a beer now, not 45 minutes from now. So, within seconds of Doug saying "We could just stay home and pursue our quest toward alcoholism" I heard the comforting sound of a beer can opening, and we started inhaling chips and salsa that didn't cost $10.95. Sure, we couldn't swear nearly as much as we wanted and the people watching wasn't as entertaining as it could have been, but sometimes sacrifices have to be made.

I eventually told Zach and Charlie that, since they were both still coughing, I wanted them to go to bed by 9:30. I got the expected response of "What? You're obviously (cough cough) insane (cough)." but they headed up anyway, at 9:40.

"Just once," I whined to Doug. "I wish they would actually take me seriously and go to bed at the time I tell them to!"

"You surprise me sometimes by being so trusting," he said. "Tell them to be in bed 20 minutes before you actually want them there. You definitely need to become more cynical."

He did have a point, and that is something I'm definitely willing to work on.