Toddlers, listen to me. Winning at bedtime has nothing to do with crying, making excuses, fake coughing, or pretending to be hungry for the repulsive dinner you rejected earlier. That’s baby stuff. And we’re not babies. We’re big.
The reason I’m awake and running around nude like a boss at 7:30PM (I’m usually standing up in my bed right now) and you’re being read some Sandra Boynton remix in footed pj’s is because I planned ahead.
If you wish to successfully throw off the parentals and indefinitely delay the commencement of your bedtime routine you must delve into the psyche of your oppressors. While parents vary when it comes to discipline, religion, politics, etc., they all have the same goal every single day: time without you.
I know, I know. Rude.
You will not avoid bedtime by merely exhausting them because just the thought of sitting down in front of the television or Pinteresting without your sweet angel voice in the background gives them a natural high that transcends all of our antics. No, toddler. You must be smarter.
If you want the leprechaun to forsake its journey, you must pee pee in the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
Allow me to explain. This morning I woke up at 5:30AM and from the moment my feet hit the floor I had one goal in mind: total house destruction. If you were to come into what now resembles a suburban shanty town of an existence you would see toys, snacks, shoes, papers, forks and more littered about as if a natural disaster had struck.
Natural disaster is actually hip hop name but that is neither here nor there.
I was so unpredictable, wild, and needy today that nothing domestic was accomplished. Plates are stacked. Laundry remains unfolded.
I just pulled a sock out of the couch cushions that was so dirty it resembled pita bread.
On a normal day by 6:45PM my mother, AKA the Queen of Shawshank, has me in a bathtime-story-bedtime whirlwind. Today she was sitting on the couch drinking room temperature white wine out of a ceramic mug with a “don’t give a duck” look in her eyes. I could see the wheels turning in her head. She could get the ball rolling for alone time but what was the point: 2-3 hours of solid cleaning awaited her.
To us toddlers who would have no problem playing shirtless in an open dumpster with a full diaper, this makes no sense but believe me. It is difficult for most adult female humans to fully relax in a filthy environment.
So here I am. Awake. Unwrapping maxi pads with joyous abandon at a time when my view of the outside world is usually obstructed by the painted wooden bars of my cell. I know I won’t stay up all night but I guarantee that my bedtime will be 45 minutes to an hour later than normal and isn’t that what it’s all about? Delaying?
I bid you, adieu, comrades. Take the wisdom I’ve just dropped and let the world be your salty side of the goldfish cracker.