Oh, bedtime. You used to be so simple. Remember that? When we had fewer and smaller bambinos under our roof, we had you in the bag.
Bedtime circa 2012. You were good while you lasted. |
Each night, we had a 10 step process. And the steps were simple. And very, very routine.
1. Toys away at 7:10 pm
2. Up the stairs at 7:15 pm
3. Change into pajamas
4. Brush teeth
5. Read two books
6. Say prayers
7. Light off
8. Sing three songs
9. Kisses, Squeezers, Cuddles, Snuggles
10. Leave the room smiling, patting ourselves on the back, high fivin’, and being parents of the decade.
Bim. Bam. Boom. Easy Peasy.
I can remember when the book Go the F**k to Sleep came out. I thought it was absolutely hilar. But I think I really thought it to be a total parody, because in our world, it wasn’t that difficult to put a child to bed for the night. In fact, it was pretty lovely. Near idyllic if I’m being honest.
And now. Now I get it. That author, was kinda sorta not kidding. Because tonight when grandma B offered me the chance at bedtime to have time with the bigs after having been away for a sleep, I may have done a duck n cover. Because these days, when the clock begins to turn toward the bedtime hour, I often feel like pulling all of my eyelashes out. One by one. Because at our current juncture, I would rather watch a Class C1 JV girls basketball game than put my children to bed {if you have ever watched or participated in JV girls basketball, you get me here.}. Or go shopping for a new washer and dryer. Clean the hair out of the shower drain {and bear in mind how much I am shedding in my post-natal state}. I would even prefer taking three children to the petri dish that is the Children’s Museum to putting them down for slumber. Okay. Maybe not on the Children’s Museum. But I’d rather do most any other undesirable activity. Because the experience is degrading quickly around these parts.
I seriously want to like it. I do. Every single night, I tell myself that I am going to really enjoy the moment. I’m going to be like that hands free mama chick and soak it all up. I am absolutely not going to lose my patience. Or have to count to 3. I want to embrace that ohsospecial time of the day where children are supposed to be the snuggliest. The sweetest. And where I should just be so thankful that they still want me to lay next to them and chat.
And then. 4 out of 5 week nights. That plan fails. Miserably.
Because the once, ten-step process, well, that went to the wayside somewhere between brother 2 and brother 3. Maybe even a little before. And now. Now. I feel as though maybe a Xanax {or something of that nature} would be appropriate prior to pillow talk. But then I feel like I couldn’t consume an adult beverage following {do people actually consume adult beverages without immediately falling asleep?}. But I can’t imagine that doctors like you to mix the two. So, choices, choices.
That ten-step process has turned into quite. theeeee. deal. For the love of God. Bedtime should be used on criminals to sweat them out. Because those ten steps have morped into eleventy hundred and sixty-two things that you have to survive to close the books on the day. And any night you wanna do bedtime, you just let me know.
But before you sign up, let me give you a little glimpse into the current list of things that need to happen to put the bunk boys to bed. It looks a little something like this…
1. Give ten minute warning to prepare them for the point of the day in which I end their world, aka, ask them to put toys away. Watch both boys get out as many toys as possible.
2. Give three minute warning to prepare them for the point of the day at which I end their world, aka, ask them to put toys away.
3. Do a shot of tequila {not really, of course. But in my dreams, that’s how it plays out}. Insert cotton balls in my ears. Tell them it is, indeed, time to put toys away. Duck for cover in order to shelter myself from flailing body parts of the middlest. And be thankful that the cotton balls have knocked the decibel level of his screams down a notch.
4. Respond to oldest’s nightly inquiry as to which toys need to be put away with the nightly answer, “Any that you played with. That are out. And that are yours.” Because clearly this putting toys away thing is something new we’re trying. After more than a year of the same thing. Every night.
5. Check on the middlest to make sure he is only still screaming for dramatic effect. Not due to a health issue or otherwise. Phew, I tell myself after confirming.
6. Insert nightly reminder that toys away would not be such a thing if they chose to clean up throughout the day. Ignore dirty looks from the 5 year old.
7. Watch the middlest suddenly, without impetus, wipe his tears, slap on a smile, and pick up a toy guitar from the ground and begin hosting a concert while getting out four new instruments for his performance. Remove cotton from ears and throw in trash. Hey, at least he’s not upset, I think to myself.
8. Remind the middlest that it is not playtime. It is toys away time. Cue screams from the middlest. Retrieve cotton balls from trash.
9. Tell the oldest that I am so thankful that he is putting all of his toys away. Because good mom’s don’t nag. They give positive reinforcement. So the books say.
10. Watch middlest decide to pick up one single toy, sprint to put it away, and breathe heavily as if he’s just climbed Mt. Everest.
11. The oldest declares that OPERATION: Toys Away is complete. Checkpoint Mommy ensues.
11b. Point out eight Legos strewn about. A toy lawnmower. Three markers sans lids. A Puss N Boots McDonalds toy. One tambourine. And a Husker helmet. Ask if they think the children who will be receiving the items that are apparently not toys, will love playing with them after I box them up and send them away.
12. Watch oldest pick up the aforementioned items. Watch middlest dance around singing Let It Go as only he can do.
13. Watch oldest tackle middlest to the ground in an effort to share his frustration with his lack of assistance. See middlest open mouth in preparation to bite the oldest.
14. Blow my referee whistle. Call the game. Give the all clear that it’s time to go to bed.
15. Remind them that anything they need for bed needs to be taken up at this time. Blankets. Sippies. Special stuffed items. And that we will not be returning to retrieve said items. We WILL not be returning. We will not be returning.
16. Begin to walk up the stairs behind a running oldest. Trailed by a middlest who is whining and pounding his fists as he crawls up every step saying, “I DON WANNNNA GO DA BED”.
16a. Remind the middlest that happy boys get bedtime songs. Which is met by amplified cries.
16b. Tell middlest that I will count to three and if he can’t come up the stairs without ceasing the tears, he will not be getting one of his three bedtime songs.
16c. 1. 2. 3. Take away first bedtime song for middlest. Perhaps I should go fill a magic red cup.
17. Walk into room. Ask oldest if he’s picked out jams. Oldest replies that he didn’t know he was supposed to. Because clearly bedtime is a new thing.
18. Oldest picks out jams. Throws discarded clothes in the middle of the floor.
19. Ask oldest to put clothes in laundry pile. Ignore his audible discontent to that request.
20. Watch middlest spin around in circles until he falls over saying, “Whoooaaaah…. Whoooaaah… Wook mommmmmy! Wook!” over and over again. Ask him to pick out jams and a dipe.
20a. Middlest picks out footie fleece jams. It’s freakin’ May! I must remove all footie fleece jams TOMORROW. Tomorrow.
21. Receive face squish from middlest immediately after he throws his diaper in my face and laughs.
21a. Enjoy the brief moment that middlest is hugging me and touching my hair, while telling me he likes how I smell. Ah. Maybe bedtime is blissful!
22. Ask oldest why he doesn’t have his jams on yet as he runs around the room naked, laughing.
23. Attempt to dress middlest while he rolls around and has a laughing fit. It’s like herding cats. Seriously.
24. Listen as the oldest declares that he will only be wearing undies and pants in an effort to be just like dad.
24a. I remind him that dad would put his shirt that he isn’t wearing back in his drawer. He laughs and balls up said shirt and stuffs it in the pajama drawer. Breathe in. Breathe out. It’s his shirt after all.
25. Boys begin to run around playing a combo of tag and duck duck goose except it’s called oink oink moo and they have to tag with their elbows.
26. Break up game of tag with a gentle reminder that it is time to brush teeth.
27. Listen to middlest walking around calling out to his stool: STOOOOOL! Where are you? Where ARE you? Where ARRRRRRE YOOOOOOU? For the loooove.
27a. Tell middlest the stool is right where it is every night. In front of the sink. Where he uses it. Every night. To brush his teeth.
28. After a minute of grunting from the oldest, the toothpaste tube is delivered to me because there’s nothing left in it. AKA it is not brand new. Oldest reminds me to get new toothpaste. I’m right on top of that, Rose.
29. Oldest preps his toothbrush and kindly reminds his brother to retrieve his toothbrush. Middlest screams due to oldest’s reminder. Oldest retorts with, “If you don’t get me your toothbrush NOW then I’m never going to let you brush your teeth. Ever again”. Because THAT is realistic.
30.Remind oldest from other room that he is not the parent.
31. Enjoy 2.4 seconds where they are both brushing teeth, making faces in the mirror, and giggling. My children are lovely. Bedtime is bliss!
32. Oldest puts away toothbrush. Rips toothbrush from the claws of the middlest. Middlest screams. Oldest tells him that “That’s what happens when you don’t listen to your brother”. My children were lovely. Bedtime is not bliss.
32a. Middlest screams. Falls from stool.
32b. Middlest pushes oldest.
32c. Oldest does a flop. Cries.
32d. Oldest continues to cry for four minutes.
32e. Ask Middlest if he wants me to kiss it or cut it off. He replies, “Cud id off”. Ask oldest if he’s okay. Remind oldest that he is not the parent. And that it’s time to pick out his book.
32d. Oldest continues to whine.
33. Both boys return to bathroom to rinse their mouths.
33a. Oldest yells at middlest for not spitting the water out. Holds cup hostage. Middlest cries. For the loooove.
33b. Oldest spits water. All over mirror and counter. Catches my glance. Hands over cup. Wipes up mirror and counter.
33c. Remind oldest that he is not the parent and that he needs to hand over the cup. I definitely should have brought a magic red.
33d. Youngest gets cup. Chugs two full cups of water. Mental note: must stop letting him drink so much water before bed or he’ll be wearing dipes until he’s 89 and needs them again.
34. Ask oldest to put clothes in laundry pile. Again. I realllly need to bring their laundry basket up. Tomorrow. TOMORROW.
35. Ask middlest to pick out a book.
35a. Oldest brings book to me. I start reading.
35b. Middlest begins to scream because he wants his book first.
35c. Give into middlest and ask oldest if it’s okay if I read middlest’s book first. I will give him candy if he says yes. Or a show. Or a pony. Please just say yes.
35d. Mentally kick myself for giving into the middlest. I will NOT give in tomorrow night. TOMORROW.
36. Read middlest’s book.
36a. Stop reading book when middlest declares that wasn’t the book he wanted. Tell him this is the book he chose.
36b. Resume reading book.
37. Read oldest’s book.
38. Answer 242 questions in order to get through both books.
39. Tell them it’s bedtime. For the loooooove. It’s finally here!
40. Notice lack of blankie on middlest’s bed. Cringe. Ask middlest where his blankies are. Please just let them be invisible. Or hidden somewhere. Please do not let them still be sitting on the stairs.
40a. Middlest screams.
40b. Tell him I will give him 10 seconds to go get his blankies.
40c. Kick myself mentally for giving in and letting the middlest go get his blankies.
40d. Count down to 1. Tell middlest he’s lost his second song of three.
41. Middlest comes in with blankie. Holds a sit-in on the bedroom floor. FOR. THE. LOVE. Must there be a protest?
42. Tell middlest it’s time to get into bed. Middlest says no.
43. Physically pick up middlest. Put into bed. Middlest cries.
44. Tell middlest to stop crying or he’ll lose his final song.
44a. Take away final song. I’m a failure at motherhood.
45. Say nighttime prayer. Middlest bounces around on bed.
46. Lay for two minutes with middlest. Oldest interrupts special time with throwing blanket down from top bunk.
47. Oldest declares he MUST get down, “My blanket fell”. Yeah. Felllll.
48. Oldest gets down. Asks if he can lay in Jonah’s cave. Not tonight. This is the song that never ends…
49. Give kisses and cuddles to middlest.
50. Middlest screams, “I wan stongs! I wan stongs!”
50a. Remind middlest that he will have songs tomorrow night when he doesn’t have 84 fits during bedtime.
51. Head up the ladder to do story for oldest.
52. Oldest determines theme of story for the evening. Please don’t say a talking toaster. Just tonight.
53. Tell story to oldest. Try to come up with a name, color, and adventure for a talking toaster.
53a. Oldest rates story at the end. Seriously. A daily performance review.
54. Tell the oldest he gets to ask three questions. Could someone puhlease send in a sub?
55. Oldest asks first question. Second question. Third question. Fourth question. I answer each briefly. Except the fourth. I stop him and state, “You get three questions”. When did I become this monster?!
56. Give kisses and cuddles.
56a. Give moose kisses. Fish kisses. Elephant kisses. Butterfly kisses. Eskimo kisses. And the like. Tell him it’s time for me to go.
57. He asks me to lay for a bit.
57a. Tell oldest I will lay for two minutes. I am NOT a monster!
58. Set my timer. Maybe a little monster.
59. Get down the ladder. Head to close closet door.
59a. Oldest tells me I need to close the closet door. Thanks.
60. Middlest shrieks, “I want kisses and cuddddddles”.
61. Give second round of kisses and cuddles.
62. Oldest says, “I want kisses and cuddles”. I cannot deprive them of kisses and cuddles, right?
63. Give second round of kisses and cuddles.
64. Tell them I love them both and head for the door, no dilly dallying. I seeeee the liiight.
65. Middlest stops me with, “I’m stared, mommy”.
65a. Ask middlest if I can take his scare.
65b. Walk over and grab scare out of his belly.
66. Walk back toward door. Don’t turn back. Do. not.
67. Oldest asks, giggling, if I will take his scare, too. I lasso his scare from the doorway. I am not backtracking again.
68. Middlest cries out, “I need wadddder. In ma sippppppyyyyy!”. Walk back, grab sippy, fill it, and tell middlest I will not be filling it again.
68a. Middlest chugs entire sippy. Begs me to refill sippy. No sippy for you!
68b. Middlest shrieks. Throws sippy on ground. Dangles feet off bed and pounds them back and forth.
69. I walk to the door. He will not die of thirst! Right?!
70. Tell them I love them both.
71. Middlest makes one final plea and declares he is in desperate need of water. I tell him that I, too, am in desperate need of a drink. Should I fill his cup halfway? What would nice moms do? What do good moms do? What do bad moms do? Which one do I want to be tonight?
72. Oldest asks me to send dad up for kisses and cuddles.
73. Remind them that daddy will try to come up when done putting the babe to bed.
74. Open door. YES!!! I’m coming for you, post-bedtime!!
75. They both say, I love you, mom.
ahhh… almost worth the hour and change of insanity. Almost.
76. Return to room an hour later when it is nearly 9:30 and they are throwing a rave in their cave.
77. State, very sternly, that this is the last time they are going to want to see me because if they see the hubs or me again, it will not be good, all the while knowing I have no idea what punishment I could possibly give them.
78. Pull door closed. Middlest says, “I wan waddddder”.
And so it goes. Until, by some miracle of God, they fall into slumber. Some nights are better, some nights are worse. But most are just. like. that. Whether it’s me doing the putting of the bigs down, or the mister.
And when I head directly into my room to wash my face and prep for bed, because bedtime has sucked the life out of me, once again, I look something like this.
Me. Post-bedtime. |
So, 10 steps to bedtime, I miss you, dearly. Maybe I’ll miss the other 68 steps on the flipside… When these men of mine no longer even tell me they’re going to bed and retreat to their den post-din. Or when they’re grown and I walk into their empty rooms. Maybe then I’ll be begging for a three hour bedtime routine. But for now, at least the 78 steps give us something to laugh about. Daily.