There is justice in this world.
Sweet, sweet justice carried out at our house every night at say, 9pm.
I was a master of avoiding bedtime. I ran out of bed, perpetually. I cozied up to my mom and told her all about my life (how can a parent resist?). I got scared a lot, which worked to my advantage when I came in crying for comfort. I worked my way into my siblings' activities, or my parents bed. Somehow I got my mom to constantly come in and rub my back and try to help me fall asleep. And then I'd interrupt with one more story. I routinely resisted sleep until I claimed my parents' exhaustion.
I remember in kindergarten my teacher asking what time I went to bed. "Oh, 10 or 10:30," I told her. I remember feeling pretty calm about it and I also remember that Mrs. Jensen was a little visibly horrified. She spoke to my mother about it. I think my mother dealt with the situation politely and responsibly and said something like "We'll work on it," but she explains she was tempted to respond with "Let's see YOU get her to bed any earlier."
Last night, like many nights, we collapsed in exhaustion. We had been doing the routine to get her to bed. It wasn't going great, so we tried everything. We tried putting her in her bed, letting her rest in our bed. We had sung "Old McDonald" and primary songs and the Dixie Chicks until we were blue. We had read stories. We had let her cry. She had a baby doll to hold. We rubbed her back, kissed her face. When she suddenly became chatty, I would attentively listen and acknowledge what she was pointing at, and then tell her it was time to be quiet and go to sleep. We tried turning off every light in the house. We tried turning on just a lamp. We tried turning on the overhead lights to see if it would make her close her eyes. But she would not succumb. As her eyes would flutter and her body would still, she would literally toss and turn and say "no! no!" (A pretty solid tactic, really.) She talked and talked and talked. We could not get her to stop talking.
By now it was 11. Through persistence, she had won. We jointly agreed defeat and each rolled away from her, fell asleep, and let her jabber until she fell asleep sometime later. Who really knows when that was.
And so I face my fate. I imagine roughly the next couple decades will be spent this way, until I hand her off to her college roommates and say "you try."
The unfortunate part is the innocent victim caught in the middle. Last night, Jason cried out, "But I wasn't like you, I don't deserve this!" I'm sorry, Jason. It's true. We should've warned you. I guess justice isn't always perfectly just. (And I guess I'll owe an apology and word of warning to Greta's future husband, as well.)
Sweet, sweet justice carried out at our house every night at say, 9pm.
I was a master of avoiding bedtime. I ran out of bed, perpetually. I cozied up to my mom and told her all about my life (how can a parent resist?). I got scared a lot, which worked to my advantage when I came in crying for comfort. I worked my way into my siblings' activities, or my parents bed. Somehow I got my mom to constantly come in and rub my back and try to help me fall asleep. And then I'd interrupt with one more story. I routinely resisted sleep until I claimed my parents' exhaustion.
I remember in kindergarten my teacher asking what time I went to bed. "Oh, 10 or 10:30," I told her. I remember feeling pretty calm about it and I also remember that Mrs. Jensen was a little visibly horrified. She spoke to my mother about it. I think my mother dealt with the situation politely and responsibly and said something like "We'll work on it," but she explains she was tempted to respond with "Let's see YOU get her to bed any earlier."
Last night, like many nights, we collapsed in exhaustion. We had been doing the routine to get her to bed. It wasn't going great, so we tried everything. We tried putting her in her bed, letting her rest in our bed. We had sung "Old McDonald" and primary songs and the Dixie Chicks until we were blue. We had read stories. We had let her cry. She had a baby doll to hold. We rubbed her back, kissed her face. When she suddenly became chatty, I would attentively listen and acknowledge what she was pointing at, and then tell her it was time to be quiet and go to sleep. We tried turning off every light in the house. We tried turning on just a lamp. We tried turning on the overhead lights to see if it would make her close her eyes. But she would not succumb. As her eyes would flutter and her body would still, she would literally toss and turn and say "no! no!" (A pretty solid tactic, really.) She talked and talked and talked. We could not get her to stop talking.
By now it was 11. Through persistence, she had won. We jointly agreed defeat and each rolled away from her, fell asleep, and let her jabber until she fell asleep sometime later. Who really knows when that was.
And so I face my fate. I imagine roughly the next couple decades will be spent this way, until I hand her off to her college roommates and say "you try."
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