Bedtime Battles, Vol. 1: Elephants On Parade
S. W. Vaughn
December 10, 2004
The great Erma Bombeck once observed, "Raising teenagers is like trying to nail Jell-o to a tree." And so in keeping with this eminent sage's philosophy, I'd like to put forth one of my opinions on the art of child-rearing:
Putting your school-age children to bed at night it like trying to stuff a herd of elephants into your freezer.
Now, I'd like to consider myself a reasonable and well-intentioned parent. Since I want my kids to behave themselves and do what's right because it's right, and not out of fear for their lives, I refrain from shoving them in the bedroom with an admonishment like "Lay down, shut up and go to sleep or I'll bash your brains in with a baseball bat!" And so, we do the "routine."
According to many a parenting expert (most of whom, as it will soon be made obvious, never had the distinct pleasure of actually being a parent), the best way to ensure smooth bedtimes is to start calming children down with a routine that's repeated nightly. No television for at least an hour before bed, lest the electronic flickering disrupt their little synapses and prevent them from firing in the correct slumber sequence (translation: it gets them really excited, and instead of sleeping they'll be jumping on the mattress and bounding off the walls). No sugary snacks or drinks. And absolutely, positively no WWF wrestling on the living room floor.
So, half an hour to 45 minutes before bedtime, we start the nightly ritual. First, a nice, warm, soothing, relaxing bath. Then we slip into toasty pajamas. We enjoy a healthy snack while making sure all of our homework is done. Then it's quality reading time, when we choose from a wide variety of children's titles and take turns reading aloud. At last it's time to be tucked in, distribute hugs and kisses, and turn out the lights.
All right, so actually we throw them in the shower, toss a pair of sweats and a t-shirt on, cram a donut or a Little Debbie snack while ripping through the backpacks and decide to do homework in the morning, pick up the book we read for the last four nights in a row and more or less read it (really really fast, skipping over the boring parts), and then hug-kiss-lights-out. Hey, at least it's the same thing every night.]
And then...the Elephant Parade begins. Child Number One emerges from the bedroom, absolutely parched. He is told to get a glass of water. Child Two and Child Three hear this, and are suddenly parched as well. Water is brought to the Sahara-Mouthed Trio, and they are told nicely but firmly that it is bedtime, and they must go to sleep.
Minutes pass before Child Three, the anal-retentive one, claims he "missed a spot" while brushing his teeth. He is told it will keep until morning. He insists he will get a cavity if he doesn't brush them again right now. Conscientious Parent Who Hates Going to the Dentist feels a twinge of worry. All three children are allowed to get up and brush their teeth again. Then they are told, not quite so nicely, to go to bed.
It's now Child Two's turn. He is starving. He has only had three plates of shells and cheese, two hot dogs, a large bowl of salad drowned in ranch dressing, and an entire roll of biscuits for dinner, plus a slice or two of chocolate cake for dessert. He must have food now. He has heard his stomach rumbling, and is on the verge of passing into skeletal oblivion. Children One and Three join in with strident complaints of stomach emptiness. Handfuls of crackers are thrown into the bedroom with the admonishment to shut up and go to sleep.
We now return to Child Number One, who is lying on his back with his legs straight up in the air, kicking the wall and repeating to himself, "I'm bored." Children Two and Three take it upon themselves to entertain said bored child by discussing crude bodily functions and laughing hysterically at words like "thingy" and "weiner". After a while, the attempt at whispering is abandoned and the noise level elevates to a dull roar.
At which point I entangle my fingers in my hair, stomp into the bedroom and scream, "Lay down, shut up and go to sleep or I'll bash your brains in with a baseball bat!"
And then, miraculously, they lie down, shut up and go to sleep. Which is when I remind myself that I should have started there in the first place.
All of you parents out there nodding your heads in sympathetic understanding, take heart. Remember that you love your children. Look upon them fondly as they slumber like angels in their beds, dreaming of pleasant things like animals and grassy fields and really awesome Dragonball Z bad guys. And never forget the best part of putting your children to bed...
You get to be the one to wake them up in the morning.
Putting your school-age children to bed at night it like trying to stuff a herd of elephants into your freezer.
Now, I'd like to consider myself a reasonable and well-intentioned parent. Since I want my kids to behave themselves and do what's right because it's right, and not out of fear for their lives, I refrain from shoving them in the bedroom with an admonishment like "Lay down, shut up and go to sleep or I'll bash your brains in with a baseball bat!" And so, we do the "routine."
According to many a parenting expert (most of whom, as it will soon be made obvious, never had the distinct pleasure of actually being a parent), the best way to ensure smooth bedtimes is to start calming children down with a routine that's repeated nightly. No television for at least an hour before bed, lest the electronic flickering disrupt their little synapses and prevent them from firing in the correct slumber sequence (translation: it gets them really excited, and instead of sleeping they'll be jumping on the mattress and bounding off the walls). No sugary snacks or drinks. And absolutely, positively no WWF wrestling on the living room floor.
So, half an hour to 45 minutes before bedtime, we start the nightly ritual. First, a nice, warm, soothing, relaxing bath. Then we slip into toasty pajamas. We enjoy a healthy snack while making sure all of our homework is done. Then it's quality reading time, when we choose from a wide variety of children's titles and take turns reading aloud. At last it's time to be tucked in, distribute hugs and kisses, and turn out the lights.
All right, so actually we throw them in the shower, toss a pair of sweats and a t-shirt on, cram a donut or a Little Debbie snack while ripping through the backpacks and decide to do homework in the morning, pick up the book we read for the last four nights in a row and more or less read it (really really fast, skipping over the boring parts), and then hug-kiss-lights-out. Hey, at least it's the same thing every night.]
And then...the Elephant Parade begins. Child Number One emerges from the bedroom, absolutely parched. He is told to get a glass of water. Child Two and Child Three hear this, and are suddenly parched as well. Water is brought to the Sahara-Mouthed Trio, and they are told nicely but firmly that it is bedtime, and they must go to sleep.
Minutes pass before Child Three, the anal-retentive one, claims he "missed a spot" while brushing his teeth. He is told it will keep until morning. He insists he will get a cavity if he doesn't brush them again right now. Conscientious Parent Who Hates Going to the Dentist feels a twinge of worry. All three children are allowed to get up and brush their teeth again. Then they are told, not quite so nicely, to go to bed.
It's now Child Two's turn. He is starving. He has only had three plates of shells and cheese, two hot dogs, a large bowl of salad drowned in ranch dressing, and an entire roll of biscuits for dinner, plus a slice or two of chocolate cake for dessert. He must have food now. He has heard his stomach rumbling, and is on the verge of passing into skeletal oblivion. Children One and Three join in with strident complaints of stomach emptiness. Handfuls of crackers are thrown into the bedroom with the admonishment to shut up and go to sleep.
We now return to Child Number One, who is lying on his back with his legs straight up in the air, kicking the wall and repeating to himself, "I'm bored." Children Two and Three take it upon themselves to entertain said bored child by discussing crude bodily functions and laughing hysterically at words like "thingy" and "weiner". After a while, the attempt at whispering is abandoned and the noise level elevates to a dull roar.
At which point I entangle my fingers in my hair, stomp into the bedroom and scream, "Lay down, shut up and go to sleep or I'll bash your brains in with a baseball bat!"
And then, miraculously, they lie down, shut up and go to sleep. Which is when I remind myself that I should have started there in the first place.
All of you parents out there nodding your heads in sympathetic understanding, take heart. Remember that you love your children. Look upon them fondly as they slumber like angels in their beds, dreaming of pleasant things like animals and grassy fields and really awesome Dragonball Z bad guys. And never forget the best part of putting your children to bed...
You get to be the one to wake them up in the morning.
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