The other night, I finished was has been described as my "crippling" bedtime routine. We get the toothbrush, she puts her OWN toothpaste on, (if this critical step is messed with its anarchy for the next 40 minutes) brushes herself, then its my turn. I have to brush her teeth and tongue and then we wash her feet (if this critical step is messed with its anarchy for the next 38 minutes). We then argue about using the potty; "Please try" "I don't have to go" "please just try" "I can't. I don't wanna go" "JUST TRY AND GO OR YOU'RE GETTING A SPANKIN" "I DON'T HAVE TO GO". Then we feed kitty treats, give a cat treat to Puck if he's made it up the stairs, then into bed for the biggest variable of our night; story time. She's been addicted to The Very Hungry Caterpillar (who can't relate?) and, of course, The Three Billy Goats Gruff. She IMMEDIATELY questions for pacy. "Is it under your pillow? You know that's your business; you have to keep track of it." "I CAN'T SEE IT" while she frantically tosses blankets and animals everywhere. But the moment she hears its familiar "clank"; my little Pavlov grins from ear to ear and instantly lays down and rolls over. INSTANTLY. What mom is going to argue with THAT? Certainly no parent that just spent the better part of 30 minutes white knuckling it through a bedtime routine from hell.
I finish story, start her music and call in the clowns to say good night. Summer usually crawls into bed with her and squeezes her until I have to yell about the over abundance of affection she is showing. Then Papa comes around the corner. Eleanor saw him and SNAPPED pacy out so quickly it made a "pop"ing sound. Summer raised her
She jumped up and gave him an enthusiastic hug and kiss and laid down quickly. He continued to rub her back and ask her questions about her day, what she learned at school and who she played with. Clearly, this inquiry irritated Eleanor. She finally said "Papa, I NEED my sleep. Can you leave my room now?" I bit my cheek to keep from howling and had to kick Summer out due to her lack of control. Papa asked her "is there something under your pillow?" "NOPE" she snapped back. Her hand is now on the trigger; she's praying for him to leave. I think she's actually sweating. He then asked, "what do you have in your hand, Ellee?" She replied "MY FINGERNAILS". That's it; I'm DONE. I can't get out of the room fast enough trying to choke out "you ARE my best baby" as I take notes from my 3 year old on how to lie to her father's face. He walked out shortly thereafter, fully defeated. Pacy becy wins.
