Brawling at Bedtime

You can hear it now.

The announcer pipes up: “Let’s get rrrready to rrrrumble!”

Now flash yourself away from the boxing match of the century and enter my living room.

My husband and I vs. the 3 girls and 2 dogs.

Shuffling orders of snacks that are refused like sub par cousine in front of the toughest of food critics.

Waving dogs away from short feral children with hands glazed in goodies.

An hour later the disdain is grating on the adults already frayed nerves.

Baby steps til bedtime you remind yourself…we can do this. Soon my precious crazies will be asleep and we’ll finally have our 1 hour alone before sleep.

The soul of every parent is weary.

We move the party upstairs for books, brushing teeth and potty before bed. This is also the last chance to gobble down the snacks.

Every night this plays out the same.

As the routine wraps up my husband picks up the youngest. She kicks her legs and flails her arms.

“I don’t wanna go to bed, I’m not ready!”

She punches him in the side of the head, he grunts slightly and then she usually kicks him in the nuts.

“P no. No hitting Daddy. Daddy loves you.”

“I want M to read to me. I’m still hungry. I want to brush my teeth, wash my hands, go potty, change pajamas.”

Little P has a long list. None of my kids go to bed hungry. It’s all part of the breakdown.

My husband calls putting her to bed “the assault” which cracks me up.

We wrestle them to bed and tuck ourselves in.

“Mommy! Daddy! MOMMY! DADDY! Mika needs you!”

My husband doesn’t wake to the yells so it’s my turn.

“Shh, what’s wrong?”

“M says she doesn’t feel good, she feels like she’s gonna throw up.”

“Alright, you go climb in bed with dad so you can sleep.” (The oldest girls share a room).

Minutes later I’m sitting just outside the bathroom while my daughter throws up. I see my husband stumbling down the stairs sans pants to investigate the problem.

We make eye contact which confuses him further a la what are you doing sitting in the hall at 5:30am?

I send him away.

My poor sick kid is really miserable. Over the next 2 hours she has a rough go. She falls asleep on the cold tile (her choice).

I wake up confused and wondering where I am.

The floor, I’m sleeping on the hallway floor.

I kidnap the toddler and tiptoe past my sickie to let her sleep. The dogs are pawing at the door waiting to attack us.

My 6 year old stays home from school. The toddler is happy for a friends. They demand we make cake, from scratch. My kids love to bake and the 6 year old discovered she loves chocolate cake when she’s sick.

Baking goes smoothly though I ate about 14 too many bites of frosting.

The dogs will not shut up. Barking. Barking. I’ve checked the perimeter, nothing is a miss. No passersby. I cannot shush them.

We get the cake in the oven. The barking is still plaguing us.

I let them out back. The barking escalates, Peanut is on his hind legs barring his teeth. I open the door to shush and his runs in scared for his life.

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

There’s a grocery bag blowing in the wind attached to a bush in the yard. The dogs have met their match.

If you’d like to ruin my dogs day just throw a bag in my yard, thanks.

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