Daddy Nights

Going to bed is an absolute fiasco. First, the children want to change out of the pajamas they have worn all day (all they ever want to wear is pajamas, sometimes it’s all we can get them to wear to school) and change into new pajamas. This is usually triggered by a defect along the lines of getting a few drops of water on the first pair of pajamas. They fight brushing their teeth. They don’t want to use the potty.

Then – all of a sudden – we’re hungry again! And we’re thirsty! You said we could have a snack!

We have to debate (fight) over whose night is whose with which parent. “You said I get Mommy tonight!” “No, I want Mommy!” They both always want Mommy.

Chiara, to her credit, will often capitulate here and take daddy. But there are conditions. Daddy has to wear his raggedy blue New England Patriots t-shirt. And this t-shirt is an absolute piece of garbage at this point. The embroidered patriot on the front is pulling away from the t-shirt, leaving holes at the corners of his three-corner hat. The seams on the shoulders are fraying. But wear something in better shape, say my raggedy Boston Celtics t-shirt? Absolutely not – that’s grounds for screaming match.

The other piece of required go-to-bed uniform is the black soccer shorts that my sister gave me for Christmas back in high school. The addition of the soccer shorts is usually on a night when I just feel like lounging in my sweats or even in my work slacks. Really, I was pretty happy just the way I was and felt no compelling urge to change into any other clothes. But if I resist, it is going to be a screaming match. Again.

The next battle is books and the debate over how many. My starting negotiating position is one and hers is fortyhundredfortyfour. Afterwards, we turn out the lights. Now she wants to do math problems. The same negotiation ensues. She wants fortyhundredfortyfour. She always wants fortyhundredfortyfour.

I lay in bed with her for “two minutes” (another negotiation point but since Chiara can’t really tell time it ends up anywhere from 30 seconds to five minutes). Then I stand in the hall with the door open, if I can worm my way out of bed. With extreme good fortune, after “one minute” in the hallway I can make my way to the bedroom. But usually Chiara appears while I’m brushing my teeth and announces “I’m still awake!” with glee. The cycle repeats: lay in bed, stand in hall, back to room, until no matter what time we started it’s 9:30 and she’s finally asleep for good. Around that time, Andrea emerges from Cody’s room, groggy and hair muffed from lying there for over an hour.

“I fell asleep again” she says “ohmygod I have so much work to do and I’m so tired.” We then proceed to the bedroom and Andrea and I work on the Sweet Kiddles to-do list until she involuntarily falls asleep.

It wasn’t always this way. Back before Cody needed books there was a wonderful thing called “Mommy Night.” Back then we used to toss Cody in the crib and we would swap nights reading books to Chiara.

Daddy nights were more or less like the routine above. But Mommy Nights, oh sweet Mommy Nights, I sit in bed, watch sports, read a book and have a drink. Mommy nights were wonderful nights.

Back then, Andrea claimed, not without merit, that the setup wasn’t fair. Her arguments were:

1.      Chiara regularly agitated for Mommy nights when it should be a Daddy night.

2.      Chiara can fall asleep anywhere from 8:20 to 9:40, sometimes worse, and somehow I got an inordinate share of the early nights.

3.      Andrea is with the kids all day and all I do is work!

4.      Every morning is a Mommy Morning!

My arguments are:

1.      I’m sleepy.

2.      Okay maybe not all that sleepy but I want to watch sports and have a drink.

3.      It’s not me asking for extra Mommy nights.

4.      Did I mention watching sports and having a drink?

We’ve worked hard at structure and consistency at bed time, and things have gotten a lot better than what I described above. But we will never, except in my most cherished memories, return to the halcyon days of Mommy Nights.

The Great Irony of Parenting

Last post, I mentioned the irony of travelling – when you are away from the kids you wish you were with them; when you are with them, you daydream about vacations. This is actually a corollary of what I call the great irony of parenting (This is like my “Murphy’s Law” so bear with me here). Here it is:

The great irony of parenting: I love my kids, but sometimes I just hate being their parent.

This is directly related to another saying: “The years are short but the days are long.”

Parenting is often great. On the odd Saturday afternoon, Andrea has needed to be out running errands or whatever, and I’ve had primary caretaking responsibility. We’ve spent these halcyon days playing in the playroom. The kids and I do puzzles, play board games while totally ignoring the rules, pretend to be Batman and the Joker beating the snot out of Thomas the Train. It’s great and we play for a couple of hours.

But then something happens. I look up and I get this sensation: Oh my god, it’s only four o’clock. I’m now done. Batman’s assault on Thomas has lost its novelty. I feel like we’ve had plenty of quality interactive time and now a little quiet time to ourselves would be perfect. And I have this unstoppable urge to tend to my iPhone villagers – they’re not going to lead themselves into battle with neighboring villages, after all!

The problem is, the kids just don’t see it that way. In their minds, it’s not time for quiet time to ourselves. It’s never time for quiet time to ourselves. We want daddy! There can never be too much quality interactive time.

Like that third piece of chocolate cake or 27^th time through Billy Madison it’s now too much of a good thing for me. I’m done. Fried. But the kids can eat more chocolate cake. They’d eat chocolate cake every meal, and snack times, to boot.

The worst of it is, we’re moving out of the good period. We’ve had fun up until now, but the witching hour is upon us. The kids are getting tired and ornery, and the toughest parts are ahead: piano, dinner, tubby, bed. I groan at the prospect of four more hours of parenting, having already reached burn out.

At this point, Andrea sends me a text: 3 more stops. There in 2 hours. Can u start dinner?

Just when I’ve given up all hope, I remember daddy’s best friend: Scooby Doo movie night! The afternoon is saved!

The vacation and the family trip

I think our kids have a reverse internal alarm clock. Do you have a morning meeting - need to rush, rush, rush? They’ll do their best to sleep until 8am. This morning, the first morning of our first real vacation in 6 years, our flight not until mid-day, Cody was in our room before 6am.

To make a real vacation, you have to get rid of the kids, and so our first stop is Houston. It’s not a vacation if you bring kids. It’s a family trip. The kids reminded us of this fact on the way there. Just past airport security the kids have begged their way into an Auntie Annie’s pretzel and a pair of Crocs each. With vacation on the brain, we’re in a charitable mood, and so we’re in-the-hole $100 within the first 20 feet of the terminal.

Upon arrival to the gate, we learned to our dismay that the airplane was a regional jet with no in-seat entertainment. Past flights have taught us this lesson – your options are three hours of misery or paying for the in-flight DirectTV. Sure it’s a little expensive at $7.99, but worth every penny. They could charge $100 and we’d do it.

Without the entertainment we’re in for more of a challenge. Putting Cody in one of these flying cigar tubes is like putting a hornet in a jar and shaking it. Once the batteries run out on his leap pad (aargh!) he’s busy calling his sister the most offensive name he can think of, nakedpants, and eating cheese crackers using the messiest method I could ever conceive (open the sandwich, scrape out the cheese with your fingers, bash the crackers on the tray until thoroughly crumbed). He keeps the rest of the flight well informed of his status throughout the duration (“Mommy, I bless-you’d on the window!” at full volume) and his search for batman watches in the SkyMall catalogue proves fruitless.

Chiara does better pretending to do Sudoku in the magazine. But halfway through the flight she wants her old shoes back- the entertainment value of $34.99 has already run out.

Side note- if our weekend getaways are any guide, we will spend a great deal of our vacation missing the kids. It’s one of the great ironies of parenting: Most of the time I spend away from the kids I wish I was with them; When I’m with them I daydream about vacations. Hopefully Hawaii is amazing enough to make it worth the sacrifice.