So we are about 1.5 hours into “bedtime” at Casa Nielsen and I have just finished my tenth trip up the stairs to deal with whatever drama DS5 has conjured up to get me to come up to his room. And as much as I would love to use the “cry it out” method, it doesn’t work nearly as well with walking talking children who can escape their rooms and/or come find me wherever I happen to be hiding in the house.
You see, tonight was “my night” to bed the monsters (hubby and I trade nights now so as to get a reprieve from the chaos every other night) and they are notoriously way worse for Mom than they are for Dad. Somehow Dad can have them in bed within about 20 minutes flat with no calls for water, no complaints about monsters in the closet or more requests rubs or “cuddle buggles” (that being said, what the heck is hubby complaining about? Anyhoo…..)
And I feel sort of bad even writing this, because bedtime should be a warm and fuzzy, cozy and snuggly kind of time where we read a story or two, give hugs and kisses and the kids drift off to sleep quietly and peacefully not to be heard again until the crack of 7am.
Bedtime should be something I look forward to each evening (and not just because it means peace and quiet for moi). But I just don’t. Bedtime means a long, slow, gruelling process with me trying to get them to brush properly, to stop fighting over whose book is read first, to stop crying when one doesn’t get to sit on the “right” side of the bed. Bedtime means many many many repeat trips back into rooms for water, and one more question or to fetch a missing stuffie. Bedtime means battles of will and overtired kids in the morning and a very grumpy mummy.
I know I will look back one day soon and miss the fact that they wanted to be with me so much they brought out every move in the playback to keep me with them, but tonight, I hate bedtime.