This is how bedtime goes down at our house:
After we have all enjoyed some family time by the fire, and my boys have finished working on their homemade Christmas gifts while softly singing “Stille Nacht” I put down my knitting and tell them, “Boys, it’s 7:00. Bedtime!”
“Gut nacht!” they trill, clasp hands, and head up stairs. And then, they go to sleep.
Ok. Once. Maybe that happened once.
No, no it didn’t. Not once. Not at all.
It almost happened one night but that’s because we had all been dosed up with Benadryl and we get a little crazy that way. They might have spoken some German. Perhaps there was lederhosen. I don’t recall.
That’s a blog for another day.
In reality, friends, here’s me heading up with my boys to bedtime:
And so it goes.
After the boys are wedged into their beds with water, jammies, shirt off because tags make Red think he is going to die, music, prayers, seventeen books, more prayers because God is super important of course, more blankets, cat tucked in, night lights on full blast, and yes, more water, I back away slooooowly.
And then, I hear it. A plaintive, sweet, adorable little voice that, at this point in the evening, makes me want to bang my head up against something like a very bitter woodpecker:
“Mom? Mom? Mother? Mom? Mommy? I canna sleep. I am thinking about the sad things.”
I am torn at this point between being, you know, kind and mother-like, or just snarling, all angry woodpecker, “Well. Ima bout to MAKE YOU SADDER.”
I know. It’s a life fraught with weighty decisions, this mothering gig. Thankfully, Blonde just up and interrupted all thinking on my part by informing me, “I’m SO SAD. There is no more cats in this house. We need more cats. Der are so many many kitties. Ders striped kitties. And kittens with, you know, all the fluffy tails…”
And on he goes. He embarked on a total Bubba Gump shrimp breakdown of every brand of cat out there.
Kids and bedtime – it’s an epic battle. I’d like to say I go all heroic and Braveheart on it every night, but you know what happened to that guy at the end of the movie, right? Not good.
Here is where The Wonderfulness that is Netflix comes in:
Now, I’m all for messing with my kids’ heads. I famously participated in Netflix’s brilliant “make ’em think it’s midnight” thrillfest with King Julien. (All hail King Julien!) Yes, there were a few questions about “but the clock says nine? How is that this midnight you keep talking about?” but I just handed Blonde (Red had no clue) another streamer and told him to decorate the cat.
This year, Netflix offers 5 Minute Favorites: A great way to offer a show at the end of the day without, you know, losing what’s left of your mind.
Save losing your mind for more quality moments, like when you come out side to the back patio to find your five year old has clutched to his chest a stray cat with less than two ears, a bent tail, and many angry meows.
He wants to name him Princess.
Bedtime. It’s not for the faint of heart. And it just keeps happening. Know the enemy:
We are mostly a King Julien household around here.
I do admit, this bedtime stalling is kinda cute when paired with a cape and a cowboy hat which happens on a regular basis.* That’s how we roll.
*The husband would like to interject at this time to make SURE you know he has NOT, at any time, participated in these King Julien shenigans in any way. I guess it’s not that kinda blog. Which is a bummer because, you know, it could be romantic.
Nope. Still not that kinda blog.