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.