This picture is so deceiving.
It looks so hallmark.
It was one of those super rare things that happens once in a lifetime, and so you have to capture it on camera.
Because in what universe has bedtime with kids ever really been a hallmark moment?
I feel like I’ve been lied to…
On behalf of moms everywhere, I’m calling it.
Bedtime is not sweet. Or happy. Or gentle on parents.
I hate bedtime.
It is the absolute worst part of the day. All the time. Without exception.
And I feel– deep down in the soft, gooey parts of my middle– like I should be snuggled in bed next to my kids, reading, and giggling and making memories.
I should kiss them, and stroke their heads and turn out the lights and stand in the doorway…sighing, and contemplating their bright futures.
But instead, I’m hiding in my bedroom closet with a jar of Nutella (because I just started a diet and it is the closest thing to straight up sugar that survived the pantry masacre) and
hoping praying that my husband doesn’t call in for back up.
My kids fight bedtime harder than Rocky fought Drago. They will seriously do ANYTHING not to have to go to sleep.
First, bedtime starts we an announcement: It is bedtime.
Then commences the whining, crying, fighting, gnashing of teeth, and hiding.
My husband d.r.a.g.s. the children to the bathroom to brush their teeth, where at least one of them experiences sudden onset muscle fatigue and drops like an Ebola patient. (Too soon?) The other two then take turns spraying toothpaste all over the bathroom, while begging not to have to go to bed.
Often bribery is offered, by the children. As in, “Dad, if you let me stay up I won’t tell mom that you caught Atti shaving his legs the other day while you were supposed to be watching him.”
Or one throws up and passes out. Or just plain drops to his knees and plants roots in the carpet… Refusing to move.
Bedtime is not glamorous. Or easy. Or for the faint of heart.
In my experience, bedtime is a kids worst enemy.
And I just simply am not buying the fruit of the loom ads any longer.
End of story.
Bedtime stinks and I’m not doing it. Unless you make me (brandon). But please don’t.
All of this to say, to all you awesome husbands out there who pick up the bedtime routine… You are awesome. We are tired. And you have no idea the service you are doing your tired wife.
To all you single moms who do bedtime ALONE, you deserve a medal.
And since I don’t have one, I am taking a knee on your behalf right now. I don’t know how you do it, but I sure do admire you.
Can I get a witness?