Let's discuss the lie of bedtime.
The tranquil still-life of aGoodnight Moon lie.
The sweet-faced babe nodding off as you close the bedroom door while tiptoeing lie.
The child who moves from the car to the bed without waking up lie.
Because we all know what really happens at bedtime. There are no hushes or whispers or kittens or crickets, and there is nothing tranquil or sweet or still life about it.
Bedtime is protest time, argue time, manipulate time. Bedtime is I-don’t-wanna time, I'm-not-gonna time, it's-not-fair time.
For those of you who think your young child will outgrow the bedtime protest, I am here to tell you that it's not likely.
The other night, we had a typical explosive bedtime. I asked Ezra to brush his teeth. He responded, predictably, with refusal.
I looked him in the eye and said, "You're going to brush your teeth. The only choice you have is whether you do it with or without an argument. Please go in the bathroom and brush your teeth."
Fifteen minutes later, I am on one side of the bathroom door holding it shut until he brushes his teeth, he's on the other side slamming his body into the door and screaming.
Goodnight noises everywhere.
By the time it's over and his teeth are finally brushed and he's in his bed sighing with sobs, I'm sitting next to him knotted in my own tangle of anger. I don't want to snuggle him, I don't want to give him a bedtime Shema, I don't want to tell him I love him.
I talk to him about how different the night could have been. He could have said, "yes, mom" when I asked him to brush his teeth. He would have trotted into bed and I would have read another chapter of The Lightning Thief. I would have kissed him and hugged him. He may have even nodded off as I tiptoed through the door.
He apologized and wrapped his arms around my neck, promising he wouldn’t do it again. Even though I've heard this redemption song before, I wondered: One of these times has to be the last time. Right?
Would this be that magical storybook night? The night he finally realizes it's not worth the fight? The night I look back on and say, and that was the last time we ever argued over teeth brushing.
Please let this be the last night we live the bedtime lie.
A mom can dream, can't she?