There is a complicated dance that takes place between the kids and I around 8 and 8:30pm (okay, more like 9ish.) I like to call it the Bed Time Tango. The brushing of the teeth, the saying of prayers, stories, back tickles, and snuggles, followed by a series of “back to bed” threats and “scary dream” pleas. It’s a delicate dance with it’s own little rhythm. My sweet husband has yet to master it.
Last night, after I put Dean to bed (its own little dance in and of itself–sippy, blankie, rock, rock, sing,) I conked out early on my own bed while Paul stayed up with the big kids, showing them hilarious clips on YouTube. I drifted off to an early dreamland, confident my fully grown man could do the aforementioned tango. He’s seen me do it enough times, right? Here are some of the sound bites that bit into my slumber:
“Go to bed!”
Cries, screams, and giggles.
“I mean it. Go to bed!”
More crying, more screams, more giggles.
“Andy, don’t even think about it. If you dump that water on me, I will give you a swirly. Did you hear me? A swirly!”
Thankfully, no flush.
“Luke, you can sleep in this bed, or you can sleep in the garage. What’s it gonna be?”
“No. This bed, or the garage.”
“I want mommy’s bed. Mommy!”
At some point, the kids did all fall asleep. At least, the house was quiet when I woke up around midnight. Tonight, I’ll show Paul how it’s done. Although, he may have added some new steps and turns to the dance that I should know about. Like, how in the world did Dean not wake up during all that racket? And Luke really did fall asleep in his own bed. Hmmm…
Maybe it does take two to tango.