It never fails. We’re coming up on bedtime, and my boys lose their minds and, somehow, forget what it is we’ve done every single night for the entirety of their lives, which, for some, is arguably more than others. But still. Every single night. How do you deviate from an every-single-night routine?
It usually happens right when we’re getting ready to start story time. The 9-year-old thinks it’s run-around-the-house-naked-and-see-who’s-fastest time. Nope. The 6-year-old thinks it’s stand-on-my-head-without-any-underwear-on time. Nope. The 5-year-old thinks it’s antagonize-his-4-year-old-brothers time. Nope.
The 4-year-olds think it’s play-chase-and-try-to-jump-over-pillows time and try-to-eat-as-much-toothpaste-as-we-can-while-Mama-and-Daddy-aren’t-looking time and throw-stuffed-animals-in-the-air-and-watch-them-destroy-the-room time. Nope, nope, nope.
“Okay,” I’ll usually say, in my best fake enthusiastic voice (because I’m usually just about done this time of night. Not because I don’t love stories. I love stories. I don’t love trying to shout above the roar of five boys doing exactly what they’re not supposed to.). “It’s time for stories. Remember the consequences?”
No one hears me, of course.
I say it a little louder. Still nothing, at which point I yell at the top of my lungs, “Sit down, or it’s early lights out for you.”
I know it’s not the best way of handling these wild animals, but our megaphone went missing, and I need something effective. Mama doesn’t yell a whole lot. So when I do, they pay attention. Well, about 2 percent of the time. It’s something, though.
You know what? I was mistaken. The mysterious short-term memory loss doesn’t start with story time. It actually starts right after dinner. We get to chore time, and everyone high-tails it outside, because I guess they forgot that they have to wipe the counters and the table and do the dishes and sweep the floor and take out the trash, like they have EVERY OTHER NIGHT OF THEIR LIVES (starting when they turned 3). So we have to waste our own valuable time rounding them all up to complete their chores, so they can all run outside again once they’re finished, even though then it’s time for a little Family time, and then it’s time for bath time. Playing outside time is done.
Every time I announce to all of them that now it’s bath time, this is the response I get:
“WHAT?!!!!!!!” (It might even be a few more exclamation marks. They’re always completely surprised. It’s like a surprise party every night.)
They’ll stomp up the stairs, while I clean up the baby and Husband wrangles the twins, and somewhere in between the time they stood at the bottom of the stairs and the time they get to the top, they have forgotten what it is, exactly, that they’re supposed to be doing (again), because now they’re flipping off they chaise in the home library, and one of them is rolling along the floor with a stuffed animal and another is doing sit-ups for his “workout.”
Let me just interject here that we run a very tight ship in our home. They know the schedule. Baths between 7 and 7:20 p.m., story times between 7:20 and 7:50, prayer time between 7:50 and 8. Bedtime, 8:15 sharp.
But every one of those transitions is news to them.
They forget it’s time for dinner, because they’re out in the cul-de-sac playing with their friends, and not stuck inside, bored, so they don’t know that the grumbling in their bellies is telling them they’re hungry. They only know that they want to keep playing. They forget it’s time for chores, because they were having so much fun they want to go back outside with their friends, who must not ever eat, instead of staying in the house, doing boring chores. They forget it’s time for reading, because they’ve just gotten out of the bath, and it feels like maybe it’s time to wrestle with their brother instead of time to wind down for bed.
When it’s get-in-bed-and-stay-there time, it’s much more fun to wander downstairs “accidentally” to “check on a LEGO Minecraft construction” and start playing with the LEGOs again.
Me: It’s not time to play with the LEGOs. It’s actually time to get in bed. Playing with LEGOs is not getting in bed.
9-year-old: But I didn’t get to play with the LEGOs all day.
Me: You mean, you didn’t get to play with them for five hours? You only got to play with them for four? Because you’ve had a long day of LEGO playing. I can tell by the mess on the floor.
9-year-old: I didn’t make that mess.
Me: Oh, that’s right. It must have been that other 9-year-old who lives in our house.
9-year-old: Yeah. Probably.
Me: Did you even hear what I said?
9-year-old:
Me:
9-year-old: Wait.
I get it. It’s really fun to be a kid, especially when kids are permitted to play. But, unfortunately, there is such thing as a bed time, and if my kids are going to make it to bed at a semi-decent hour, we have to have routines and schedules.
So it is that we keep on keeping on, We keep telling them the same things every night, keep reminding them that it’s not play-with-LEGOs time and it’s not jump-on-the-couches time and it’s not plunge-the-toilet time (actually, there’s not even a time like that in our house, 4-year-olds) and it’s not draw-in-notebooks time and it’s not technology time and it’s not run-around-like-crazy-people time and it’s not change-your-clothes-again time and it’s not need-a-snack time. Those things (or at least some of them) have a place in our schedule. That place is not this minute.
I’m not sure what causes this forgetfulness. I suspect it has something to do with wishful thinking. It’s like how, when a parent no longer has a 3-year-old, she forgets how excruciating it was to raise a 3-year-old and has another baby, because surely this one will be different (they’re all pretty much the same). We varied up the routine once. And kids are really, really good at remembering That One Time and forgetting Every Other Time. The exceptions, especially when they’re fun, become the norm in their minds. So, I don’t know. I might not even want to uncage that beast.
Just about every night, Husband and I will look at each other and say something along the lines of, “Really? They don’t know it’s time for chores, even though we do this every night?” But here’s something I’ve tried to remind myself in those perplexing moments: This is called Being a Kid. I remember being a kid and hoping that, just this once, the rules would be different and I could ride my bike out on the street, because I was now in third grade and knew how to watch for cars, and then I’d just do it, because my logic, even then, was about on par with a deer trying to decide whether he wants to cross the street or stay put. My kids clearly got it from somewhere.
So maybe tonight I’ll give them a night off. Maybe we’ll all eat outside and won’t worry about sweeping or wiping off tables, because nature does that pretty well. Maybe we’ll let them take a swim suit shower out on the back deck and read stories while they jump on the trampoline and then carry them all up to their beds when it’s time.
What’s life without a few surprises?
