I'm pretty discouraged tonight, but I won't get into all of that. I'm just stopping by to say, I think I may have just reached the pinnacle of parenting ridiculousness. Or maybe I've tapped into my true potential - maybe I missed my calling, and should have been a hostage negotiator. Or an international diplomat. Tactical coordinator? I don't know. You decide.
Bedtime in my house is usually easy. Most nights, all three children go to bed without incident. But tonight, each of my children took turns resisting bedtime vigorously. Emmy was overtired and restless. Silas threw the kind of epic fit that leaves me needing a nap when it's done; after an hour (hour!) of wailing and gnashing his teeth, he finally fell asleep in my arms. Between the two of them, it took TWO HOURS to get them both in bed and asleep. By the time it was Asher's turn, he could smell blood in the water. I was exhausted, and he knew it. After forty-five minutes of sneaking out to the playroom, or standing in the doorway and waving at me (taunting, as it were), I had had enough.
I told him he wasn't allowed to go to bed.
He had to sit on the couch without a toy or his bedtime blankets. He wasn't allowed to get up or to talk. He had to sit on the couch and wait (for what, I don't know, but that's what I told him. "Sit here and wait"). He sat down, and I left the room.
Ten minutes later he started whimpering, "But I HAVE to go to bed, Mom. It's bedtime! And if I don't go to bed I'm not going to feel well in the morning."
I looked at him skeptically. "You think I should let you go to bed?"
"Yes, Mama. Please."
"Okay," I said, feigning uncertainty. "I'll let you try again. If you really think you need to, I guess I'll let you go back to bed."
He jumped off the couch and trotted happily back to his room. I never heard from him again.
I couldn't make this stuff up.