Thursday, August 19, 2010

Bedtime Blues

It's been one of those evenings where I spend most of my time clockwatching (when I can) and longing for bedtime.  Post-vacation re-entry into normal home life (as normal as it gets for us) is difficult on the little people who live here.  And it was showing, in fine form, tonight.

At 8:15p, I've gotten the kids into bed.  I've put the sheet back on Small Fry's toddler bed, which she took off (and put away in the right spot!) during naptime.  We say prayers.  I tuck them in.  Requisite hugs and kisses.  Hug and kiss for Medium Fry's dog (not duckie, oddly enough).  Repeat kiss for Small Fry, because she's sure I didn't give her one.  Hugs and kisses for Large Fry (and her dog), after she tells me a fantastical story about how all five of us were in a box, and as soon as we got out, we cwracked, and then Risropher Robin and Pooh and Piglet came along, and they stepped on us, and they cwracked us again.  She tells me, very solemnly, that her bedspread is Shamu, and she's going to sleep right here on Shamu.  I say this sounds like a grand plan.

I go back downstairs, relieved that they're all in bed and it will be quiet enough now for me to hear myself think.  Or not think, as the case may be.  I'm too tired to think much.

I pop in a DVD of my own and start watching.  About half an hour after I came back downstairs, I'm hearing whimpering and crying through the twins' monitor.  I call upstairs for Small Fry to be quiet.  Two minutes later, I'm climbing the stairs.

"Why are you crying?"  I note with very little amusement that the little sneaky one has gotten out of bed to get my two-foot-tall Pooh bear and bring him into bed with her.

"I want to syeep in youwr bed."

"You can't sleep in my bed.  You need to sleep in your bed."

"I want yew to yay down in youwr bed."

"It's not time for me to go to bed yet.  I'll lay down in my bed when it's bedtime."  I pause, knowing that my big Pooh has been scawwy in the past.  "Did you get out of bed to get Pooh?"

Small Fry nods.

"You're not supposed to get out of bed," I remind her gently.  "Do you want Pooh to stay with you?"

She nods again.

I tuck her and Pooh in, and turn to leave.  Small Fry starts whimpering.  "What?"

"I want dem."  She points to the two canvas boxes that hold her stuffed animals.

I look down and see her big piggy and her little piggy in there.  "You want your piggies?"

"No.  I want dat."

"You want the doggie?"


I tuck the doggie in beside Pooh, tell Small Fry goodnight, and move to head downstairs.

"Auntie J?"

"What do you need, Large Fry?"

"Shamu and I are cold.  We need a blanket.  Can you get one?"

I couldn't help myself; I had to smile.  If she'd just lay under her comforter, she wouldn't be cold.  But since that's Shamu, she won't, so I don't even bother suggesting it.  I pick up two of the other blankets and cover up her and "Shamu."

I'm back downstairs another ten minutes, and Small Fry is whimpering and fussing again.  Once again, I head back upstairs.

"What?  Why are you crying?"

"I want to syeep in youwr bed."

"You can't sleep in my bed.  You need to sleep in yours."

She cries a little harder.  "But I want to syeep in youwr bed!"

"You can't sleep in my bed.  No one is in my bed.  I'm not going to bed now.  You need to sleep in yours," I tell her firmly.  She kinda nods.  "Go to sleep," I say, a bit more gently.  Rustling from Medium Fry's bed seems to indicate she wasn't asleep like I thought she was.

I'm turning to leave (again), when I hear do do do do do coming from Medium Fry, remarkably clear around the thumb in her mouth.  She's bouncing her doggie along in a hop in time with her little song.  I went over and tapped her shoulder.  "No playing!  Go to sleep."  She tucked Duckie over her ear and settled down.

I'm back downstairs...I'm still hearing the occasional, tell-tale "I'm still awake" noises, but nobody's crying.  Thank goodness.

Bedtime isn't usually this entertaining....

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