Bedtime

There are two (well, technically five) parts of the day that I hate:

1. Mealtime
2. Bedtime

Before we address the former, I believe we should address the latter.  Now, I know that many parents enjoy bedtime.  Sweet little freshly bathed pink-skinned children, ready for their stories, eagerly listening, and then tucked in cozily in their sweet little beds, a kiss on the forehead, an "I love you" and a "sweet dreams", and blowing kisses at the door.  It's so peaceful and idyllic.  For most people.  Except our house looks more like this:

After Scott finally manages to wrestle the boys into the tub and they spend twenty minutes turning into prunes until one of them poops in the tub or knocks his brother nearly unconscious by pushing his head into the faucet, it's time to get out.  Now a fight ensues over who gets to drain the water and who has to get out first.  Ben typically runs around naked, shouting "I'm a NAKEY boy!", while Scott wrestles a diaper onto Caleb and shoves some pajamas on him.  Finally, eventually, both boys have pajamas on.

Getting upstairs to their bedrooms is a small circus act in itself.  It involves several trips up and down the stairs to retrieve Lovey (Ben's), Big Blue (Caleb's), milk for Caleb, water for Ben, Ernie (Caleb's), and maybe a favorite book or two that got left downstairs.  Then it's a fight in the bathroom over prime tooth-brushing real estate.  Normally Caleb loses out and has to stand on the toilet while Ben sits on the counter.  Ben MUST put his own toothpaste on his brush, and upon seeing this, Caleb also proclaims "My do! MY DO!" until someone allows him to put his own toothpaste on his brush as well.  Of course Caleb doesn't let anyone actually brush his teeth, but I can't have him sucking on the toothbrush and just swallowing all the toothpaste, so I have to pin him down and jam the toothbrush into his mouth in order to at least swipe a couple of his teeth.

Then it's into Caleb's room, where Ben dictates which books will be read to him.  The limit is two, although Caleb insists it's 76.  Cue tantrum.  Ultimately, he gets tucked in, but how I'm not sure, since his brother is usually doing something incredibly noisy in his room like playing with his Marble Works or kicking the wall or singing at the top of his lungs.  Caleb doesn't always cry when he's tucked in, but most times he does.

Then it's on to Ben, who insists on a few more drinks, eleventy-five books, and a trip to the bathroom AFTER he's already tucked in.  There are usually no tears, but a gazillion questions for me, like "Mommy, why did dinosaurs live in the Cretaceous period?" or "Why do we have to go to church next year?", followed by made up fears.  Anything to keep me in his room.

I'm an instant gratification kind of girl.  When I want something, I want it NOW.  And when I want my break from the people I have seen since six a.m., I want it NOW.  I have no patience for bedtime.  I like the book reading part, but the rest of it needs to be five minutes, tops.  Quicker, if possible.

That's why I hate bedtime.

Mealtime is worse, for several reasons.  The main one is that I don't like preparing food.  Again, it's the instant gratification.  I think of food and want it, NOW.  I have no patience for cooking.  So when I'm in the kitchen I'm already in a distressed state.  Trying to figure out what to feed these picky little boys is no easy task.  Trying to figure out what to feed them when they are crowding around me declaring how hungry they are and critiquing everything I pull out of the freezer is even more difficult.

If I manage to survive preparing the food, I can move on to getting their hands washed.  Now, keep in mind that during the day I have two daycare kids that I watch.  B is 20 months and is also an instant gratification kiddo whose screams rival banshees when he doesn't get what he wants when he wants it, and L is a 3 month old sweetie pie who always just happens to need a nap when I'm in the middle of getting lunch ready.  So washing three sets of hands isn't always easy for me, especially when the oldest set has an aversion to water or just being clean in general.


*side note: I'm pretty sure Ben is going to be my boy who doesn't shower or wear deodorant when he's in high school.  How can a boy who is so NEAT detest being CLEAN?  It makes no sense to me.

Hands washed, the boys race to the table and fight over who sits where.  Then it's peace for about 10 minutes while they eat, and I really do appreciate that time.  Soon, though, B drops his cups and screams, resulting in mild hearing loss for everybody else in the house.  Then Beau (the dog) steals some food from Caleb, and Ben spills his milk.  When the meal is done, I have a small panic attack as I realize what a mess I need to clean up.  Why on earth we ever decided we needed dining room chairs with beige microfiber seats is beyond me.  Soon I will have them re-covered to something more child friendly.

So there you have it.  The two times of day (well, five, because there are three meals and nap time) that I absolutely detest.  Please tell me I'm not the only one.