I have a love-hate relationship with bedtime. The kids' bedtime that is, not mine - I just love mine.
I love freshly bathed little hoodlums in their jim jams. Their hair is a little wet and dishevelled. They smell like baby shampoo and bubble gum toothpaste. (Swift has no choice in the matter yet - size 6 Pampers for him.) I love reading bedtime stories with them cuddling up next to me. I love them piping up during prayers thanking God for cupcakes and other such important matters.
But then ... I utter the words "It's bedtime kiddos, under the covers!" and it stops being fun. Mostly because it is unpredictable. Sometimes I give and get kisses and they actually go to sleep. Lindsay and Swift both insist I "rest with them" awhile which is logistically difficult because I am actually only one person.
And then there are nights like tonight. Bedtime is at 7:30 and at 9:00pm there were still two little girls who were taking turns coming downstairs with all kinds of lame excuses for being up. This is about when I lose patience which isn't pretty for anyone not to mention embarrassing because I am supposed to be the grown up after all. Sigh.
Thanks. I had to vent about all that. It's my bedtime.