I hate bedtime. (The kids’, not mine. In fact, I love mine and, starting at about 6 every night, start look forward to it.) Harrison, at the delicious age of 14, is pretty much on his own in terms of when he retires, so my role with him has been reduced to noting the time and suggesting he might want to get his ass in bed. Georgie, on the other hand, is still very much my nighttime responsibility and, while admittedly things have improved, the ritual still often brings me to my knees.
There was a time when I would do just about anything imaginable to avoid being home at bedtime. For a time, Rich felt the same way which proved horribly problematic. He appears to have gotten over it yet manages (almost always legitimately) to get out of it. Either he is at work, stuck with a work issue, thinking about work or snoring on the couch as a result of exhaustion from work when Georgie is initially sent off to the land of nod. So, not only am I facing that which I hate, but doing so with the knowledge that there ain’t no one gonna help me out. (Note: No dissing is intended here…really!)
Truth be told, bedtime has improved greatly over the past few years. There was a time when it was so bad that I was reduced to tears on a regular basis. I would be in a sweat, frustrated, angry and suicidal. (Yes, occasionally I was homicidal, too) The whole ordeal would easily take up to two hours a night. There was nothing funny about it at the time. Or now, actually. I am still a little bitter.
Tonight, I read the four books (I promised three, but then he asked if I would just read “Pinkalicious” which I happen to love, so I did), sang a few ditties (yeah, I really do that), “constructed” a road on his back and, for my finale, rubbed his back. With a gentle reminder that we were done until morning, I made my way downstairs to find my happy place. It wasn’t eight minutes later when I hear a “mommmmm” from upstairs (this, I might note, is a vast improvement over his coming downstairs, on average, six times…at least now he stays put). He “needs” me…and has to tell me something he “doesn’t want anyone to hear”. (Does he not know that, a.) Rich isn’t home and b.) Harrison cares about pretty much no one but himself right now?) With a warning that I am going to be “very angry” if I come upstairs for no reason, I continue my ascent. In as doe eyed a way as possible, with his softest, sweetest voice, and what looked almost like a tear in his eye, he proclaimed:
I love you so much mommy. When you are dead I will keep celebrating your birthday and buy you presents every year…
Had he not cocked his head and smiled pathetically, he mighta had me. Instead, I watched as his smiled broadened and he broke out into hysterical laughter. Sucker!
So it goes with George and bedtime. I suspect I have not heard the last of him today…he is likely up there concocting his latest distraction. He lucky to be as cute as he is…
