God dammit! Go to sleep!
It’s amazing the lengths my daughter will go to avoid going to bed. She’s four — going on sixteen — and every time we put her to bed she just pops back up somewhere in the house. She’s like a bedtime version of whack-a-mole.
My daughter can fall asleep in the car in the middle of the day with her neck kinked up in 12 directions soaked in sweat from the baking sun, but we can’t get her to fall asleep at 10 p.m. in her dark room. Shit, I’m 33 and the second it starts to get dark outside I find myself yawning.
But in many ways this little game of child boomerang is entertaining as hell. My wife and I just crack up over the lengths she’ll go and the excuses she’ll come up with.
Mom, I can’t find my pajamas.
What happened to them?
I took them off.
Why did you take them off?
Because I couldn’t find them.
Mind. Blown. What the hell does that even mean? And yet that’s just one of the many things she’ll come up with.
Or how about this one:
Dad, I need to tell you a secret?
What?
Bend over, it’s a secret.
Just tell me.
I said bend over!
Fine. What?
I want a fruit snack.
God dammit, that’s not a secret.
The other night she snuck downstairs with a blanket over her head, “booing” like a ghost. Then she went into the kitchen and grabbed all the bananas and told us that she couldn’t sleep until she gave everyone in the house one.
As I type this she’s standing at the top of the steps crying and is halfway to winning an Academy Award for Best Actress in the film, “I can’t sleep if my TV is off because I don’t have a light because I accidentally dropped my night light in the toilet.”
Side note: How the hell do kids drop so many things in the toilet? They have to be doing it on purpose. Have to.
But perhaps the funniest — and meanest — was the other night when she came downstairs cute as a button, climbed up on my lap, and then whispered to me, “I love mom more.” Then without saying another word she just went up to bed. Not another word from her, either. Slept like a champion.
Go figure.
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