Mom is here! She flew in from New Hampshire today. The 3,000 mile distance is rough, but the long visits totally make up for it. The kids had her reading Mickey Mouse books to them about fifteen minutes after she walked in the door.
So precious, I can’t even.
Also, my kids love Mickey Mouse books. We have a set of Disney treasuries and a few “flip this book over and there are actually two stories” Mickey books, but that’s it. Where are all the Mickey books? Surely there is a market for them!
Anyway, that was the sweet part of the day. Zach came home, we all ate his corned beef and cabbage (so good) and my Irish soda bread (which I totally messed up – I didn’t pay attention, and essentially dumped all of the ingredients into a bowl before realizing that I was supposed to use the buttermilk and egg separately – but miracle of miracles, it was really good. Just moister than your typical Irish soda bread), and then it was bedtime.
Before I start, I’ll tell you that I love my toddler. She’s so smart, and so funny. Ridiculously clever and cute. However, she is also a total monster from Greek mythology these last few nights. Really. A nightmare and a half. She will not go to bed. She won’t even let me get through a single bedtime story, snd I’ve been reading her bedtime stories for her entire two-and-a-half-years. What is going on? She jumps around and yells and talks back and refuses to stay in her bed. Right this second, she is refusing to sleep. A few minutes ago, she waltzed into the living room exclaiming: “Damn it. Damn it. I say damn it.” (That’s the worst word she knows. She is obviously trying to start some kind of post-bedtime battle.)
It’s the kind of infuriating that makes me want to set my hair on fire and run through a village, shouting: “Become nuns, all of you! Save yourselves from this bedtime hell!”
When I was pregnant with Maddie, I remember reading parenting magazines that talked about bedtime woes. I thought: “Oh, that’ll be so sweet. I’ll offer my child a glass of warm milk and he or she will say ‘But mama, I don’t want to go to bed.’ So I’ll say ‘Wellll, just this once, I’ll read you an extra story.’ And I’ll wink at him or her, and we’ll both bask in the sunshiney knowledge that I am the best mother in the world.”
I want to go back in time and punch that version of myself in the face. I don’t care that I was pregnant at the time. I would still punch myself in the face.
Why won’t my kid sleep anymore? Why is she so in-your-face mean to me? I thought things were supposed to ease up at the end of her second year!