...and then you have to put them in bed five or six more times? You know, that feeling?
Yeah.
It's been going on for a couple of months now. Miss used to be a champion going-to-bed-er, and we're close to cracking.
Except.
Except the culmination of the going to bed badness occurred - of course- during The Enormous Visit, when her two little friends (the girlies, she calls them) slept in her room with her. These girls were begging - begging - for her to shut up already and lie down so they could sleep (in not so many words).
She did not.
They seemed to have a good time together despite the lack of bedtime harmony, however, so it didn't ruin the entire visit, just the hours between seven and eight thirty pm every night.
Until the last night, when we were determined to have a nice grown-up meal after the kids were asleep, and didn't want to have to get up what felt like thirty or forty times while our steaks got cold.
So Amy and I came up with a plan - these kids would get ready downstairs. They would be so ready for bed that when we took them upstairs, the only thing they had to do was go to sleep. We shut the door on quiet kids after a very long afternoon at the local fall fair.
At six-thirty [shouts of joy and clinks of wine glasses all around].
I only had to go up there three times, once during dinner. An improvement, in my books.
And since The Enormous Visit (that would be eight bedtimes ago)? Every night, we get her ready for bed downstairs, so the only thing she needs to do once we get upstairs is give hugs and kisses, crawl into bed, and yell for us to not forget our wallets (and a new thing that involves closing the door without making any sound - strange).
And in eight bedtimes, we've had to go upstairs and put her back to bed three times.
Thank you, Enormous Visit. (You were worth it anyway.)
