Sleep Rebellion Tactics

I reserve judgment on which of my children reigns victorious for this evening's competing attempts at bedtime rebellion; I will leave the final verdict to you after I enlighten you on this evening's shenanigans.  

You know those nights - -after a particularly long day of work, when all that stand between you and the couch is the daunting task of putting your own children to bed.  It should be marketed as some sort of ancient torture technique.  It NEVER goes over well.  What unfolded tonight happened in the following sequence :

1.  Rob cheerfully left for soccer, kissing both of our angelic kids goodnight as they stood mild heartedly on the front steps, waving their loving goodbyes in endearing earnestness.

2.  All hell broke loose.

After what seemed like hours, Mia started asking to go to bed (a few minutes earlier than her stated bedtime of 7pm).  I guess she was just messing with me because when I called her bluff (at the cruelly early hour of 6:58 pm) her response was an instantaneous stop, drop and wail.  By the time I had her up the stairs her legs had miraculously stopped flailing but when she then pulled a completely irresolute inability to choose her bedtime story it started all over again.

As I calmly sat in her rocking chair, waiting with the miraculous and unwavering patience that we mothers deserve a medal for, she managed SOMEHOW to calm herself down enough to pick out the same 2 books we have read every night for the past 2 weeks.

The girl likes her routine.

I closed my eyes and read the books by memory as I rocked her in her chair.  She seemed to calm down a bit but every so often reached up to pry my eyelids open.  When the stories were over I turned off her bedside light and was about to sing her her bedtime song when I felt her aggressive little FIST on my mouth, clamping it shut.

“No, Mommy, DON’T sing yet,” she said in a stern whisper, “First I’m going to tell you a story.”

My eyes popped open with curiosity and once again I called her bluff,

“OK, Mia…tell me your story.”

Mia’s story, said her husky yet sweet bedtime voice as I rocked her to sleep, went something like this,

“Once there was a man.  He was in a pond.  He was very sad.  It was scary because this man was in a pond.  He was a man in a pond. And he couldn’t get out of bed because you know why? Because he had blood on his finger.  He had blood on his finger because he SQUEEZED it.  Like this.  He SQUEEZED it like this and there was blood and it was on his finger.  And he was in a pond and he could NOT get out of bed and then his mommy came and she saw blood from his leg and he had blood on his leg and he could not get out of bed so his mommy came with blood on his finger and his leg and that’s the end.”

I have to say, it was a pretty good attempt at her very first improv story telling gig.  The story itself MIGHT have lacked a little in its plot line consistencies, character development and overall point, but it got points for creativity and ingenuity.

And it’s a whole lot better than some aspects of Toby’s approach.

Whereas Mia had delayed bedtime with her feigned-story-choosing-indecisiveness, Toby was three game plans ahead of me by the time I finally had Mia tucked in her crib.  He had laid out on his bed his two LONGEST books from his bookshelf.  They were books I hadn’t read in YEARS and together probably extended bedtime by a good 10 minutes.

And then he remembered that he hadn’t brushed his teeth.

And then he remembered that he hadn’t peed since lunchtime.

Or had a glass of water since breakfast 2 days ago.

And had lost his pillow somewhere upstairs.

(I can’t even type all f this without rolling my eyes...)

Finally it got to the time when I was able to START the epic Berenstein Bear sagas.  And FINALLY the epic Berenstein Bear sagas were over.  I sang him his good night song and came upstairs.

After my never-ending bedtime with the two of them, I sat out here on the deck, for a while, listening to the birds go to bed (cheerfully, I might add!) and contemplating how I might transpire this all into a blog post.  As I came inside (about 30 min later) to get my computer up popped TOBY from behind the kitchen counter with Mia’s hair elastic in his hand.

“Mommy!” he said in self-defense as I inched towards him, “I found Mia’s hair elastic on the floor of the bathroom and didn’t know what to do with it!  So I brought it to you!  I am just trying to help!!!!!”

Not only had he scared the daylights out of me...I just couldn't buy the explanation.  OR the tears the ensued when I explained that to him.

And so I leave it to you…was it the ingenious story telling or the fabricated attempt to “help me” that wins the day?

SPOILER ALERT: It was neither.  The winner of the night was CLEARLY Rob, who avoided all of the above shenanigans with his Monday night soccer game.