Womb and Bored

Womb and Bored

Monday, October 12, 2015

Go the F to Sleep...

If you're a parent, I don't have to tell you what I go through each night when that 8:00 time-frame rolls around.  You already know.

Part of sex education should be a field trip to a family's house where young children reside during the bedtime routine.  Let me tell you...all those young kids would be keeping it in their pants.

No one realizes how hard it is to get kids to sleep.  Our parents don't even realize, because back then it wasn't completely out of the question to rub a little booze on our pacifiers.  Now, if we did that, DFS would be knocking on the door before we ever even got the bottle cap unscrewed.  Fucking childproof bottle.    

The smarmiest of lawyers can't compete with the manipulation and negotiation of a 4-year-old at bedtime.  In fact, I'm surprised The Firm hasn't come to recruit my little varmints.  Because even though the routine is the same.  Every fucking night, there's a new guerrilla tactic for bedtime avoidance.

Being a teacher has taught me the love and appreciation of reading.  However, somehow, that love exits the second I ask my kids to pull out a book and it is anything by Dr. Suess.  Don't get me wrong, the man was a lyrical genius and the original Eminem, however, his books have a lot of words I can't pronounce, and if not pronounced correctly, the words don't rhyme, and if the words don't rhyme, my children get pissed, and I'm forced to go back and read it again, and those fucking books are so long.  They are so long.  And my kids are getting old enough to know when I skip pages.  And then they accuse me of skipping pages, and then they say I ruined the story and I have to read another book.  Which is even longer.  And I know you're sitting there thinking I should have better management, however, I just want to be done, and I want them to go the F to sleep, so I will do WHATEVER it takes.  

And then there is the brushing of teeth.  None of them can tolerate the same flavored toothpaste.  So, there are multiple tubes of toothpaste laying around, and once I remember which toothbrush/toothpaste belongs to which child (yes, I always fuck this up), there's the water temperature debate.  One likes it lukewarm, one likes it cold.  It's fucking bizarre.  So, they have to take turns.  Is it a big deal?  No.  But does it eat into my alone time?  Yes.  

So, it's time to go to bed.  And all of the sudden they are ready to talk about their day.  Earlier when I asked how preschool was they were glued to Jake and the Neverland Pirates, but now, they are the Stephan Fucking King of storytelling going into every ebb and flow of the day from breakfast until dinner.  I do care, however, not as much as I did two hours ago.

So, it's hugs, kisses, high-fives, knuckles, blow-it-up, elbows...

And I'm crossing the threshold to my room..  And...

The dehydration kicks in.  "Mom, I'm so thirsty."  I mean, this has happened so many times I actually took them in to the doctor sure they had diabetes.  Nope.  Turns out they're just assholes.  Thirsty assholes.  Thirsty assholes who won't drink the bathroom water because it tastes funny.  So, my fat ass has to waddle down the stairs to get fresh new water.  I don't even get fresh new water for myself.  I take my Xanax with whatever filth is in the cup from the night before the night before that.  But, Erin Fucking Brockovich, who was supposed to be in bed 30 minutes ago, only has a hankering for the finest combination of Hydrogen and Oxygen.

Then...finally...it's quiet.  For about 5 minutes.  Until the nightmares.  And they are always the stupidest nightmares.  Like, can't you all make up nightmares about snakes or spiders?  Instead, it's the Cavity King.  Or the Giant.  Or Donald Trump.

I know I'm not alone.  I know other kids suck just as bad as mine at going to sleep.  I think it's time we live in the real world and admit that Goodnight Moon doesn't send every child into a blissful state of REM.

And I'm sure there are tons of things that I could do better, more consistently, and efficiently.  However, this non-routine has become part of our own routine.

And I know one day I will miss reading those long-ass books.

And I will long for the long-ass trips down the stairs.

And I will wish I could hear the tale of the Cavity King.

However, in the present, I'm wishing we could bring the whiskey back.  

And that I paid more attention to word-study so I could read those damn Seuss books.  

And that my kids, though I love them, would just go the fuck to sleep, so that I could get back to reading all of the articles about all of the ways I'm fucking up the bedtime routine whilst drinking just enough wine to not feel guilty about it.

I love my kids.

But I hate bedtime.












No comments:

Post a Comment