There comes a point in every parent's life when desperation for control of the homestead leads them to parenting methods many non-parents, or parents with perfect, abnormally well-behaved freak-children would question.
We find ourselves locked in an on-going battle with our children to keep them sleeping soundly in their beds throughout the night. Forget the whole night, it would just be nice to have them go to their beds peacefully for a change. No fighting, arguing, whining, etc. No leaving their rooms to pad all the way across the house to our room to inform us that their head hurts, or their feet hurts, or their leg hurts and the only cure (obviously) is sleeping in our room. No dramatic declarations of how much they would love us (so much more than normally) if only, only, they could sleep in our bed. No crocodile tears as they look at us with hound-dog eyes and pouting lips as they explain how much they will miss us and couldn't possibly go all night without us. No lengthy monologues on the dangers lurking in the closet or under the bed from which they need our protection.
You get the idea.
Recently, there was quite a windstorm blowing outside - it grew louder and louder and fortunately, the worst of it was blowing against my bedroom wall. As Little Sunshine launched into her argument for why she should spend the night with us, I looked at her with eyes wide and said, "Is that aliens, I hear?"
She immediately hushed. She listened. Then she whispered, "Mama, what is that?" "I think it is aliens coming - you had better go hide in your room! What if they come in here?" She was a blur in a Dora nightgown as she jumped off the side of my bed, hit the ground mid-stride, and slammed my bedroom door shut behind her. I looked at El Hubbo. He looked at me. "I can't believe that worked," he said. We waited to see if she would come back to investigate. She did not.
El Hubbo started laughing. He swore our little girl will need therapy because of me, however, I pointed out that we should reconsider her inclusion in the will as she was all too ready to leave us behind to be kidnapped by aliens. He had to admit I had a point.
I also had a new weapon. For two nights, we had no visitor to our bed. Clothes were picked up, toys put away. I only needed to remind her that at any time the aliens could return, and they really, really liked little girls who didn't listen to their mama. I even started calling her "Alien Bait". It was a blissfully peaceful few days. You may judge me for my parenting methods, but not tripping over stuffed animals and not gathering dirty panties from all over my house makes me not really care what you think.
But, then the little darling surprised me with this, "Mama, did you know aliens suck your brains? Zombies eat your brains, but aliens suck them." So, she was doing her homework. This is the child most likely to conquer a small country and install herself as dictator.
The next day, she dressed herself all in pink. Pink jeans, pink longsleeved shirt, pink shoes, pink socks, etc. She looked at me and said, "Mama, if those aliens come, I will just look at them and go: huuuuuuuuuuuccccckkkkkkkkssssssssss." The noise she made was somewhat like the warning sound a mama cat or perhaps a cougar makes to warn off someone nearing their cubs. She had her arms raised and hands up ready to attack. She made a kicking motion and gave me a defiant look. "I'm brave like Merida," she said. "I'll fight those aliens!" In her mind, the power of pink would be too much for the aliens to handle.
I knew it was too good to last.
Now, the excuse for staying in my bed is to protect ME from the aliens. Fare thee well, sweet rest.
We find ourselves locked in an on-going battle with our children to keep them sleeping soundly in their beds throughout the night. Forget the whole night, it would just be nice to have them go to their beds peacefully for a change. No fighting, arguing, whining, etc. No leaving their rooms to pad all the way across the house to our room to inform us that their head hurts, or their feet hurts, or their leg hurts and the only cure (obviously) is sleeping in our room. No dramatic declarations of how much they would love us (so much more than normally) if only, only, they could sleep in our bed. No crocodile tears as they look at us with hound-dog eyes and pouting lips as they explain how much they will miss us and couldn't possibly go all night without us. No lengthy monologues on the dangers lurking in the closet or under the bed from which they need our protection.
You get the idea.
Recently, there was quite a windstorm blowing outside - it grew louder and louder and fortunately, the worst of it was blowing against my bedroom wall. As Little Sunshine launched into her argument for why she should spend the night with us, I looked at her with eyes wide and said, "Is that aliens, I hear?"
She immediately hushed. She listened. Then she whispered, "Mama, what is that?" "I think it is aliens coming - you had better go hide in your room! What if they come in here?" She was a blur in a Dora nightgown as she jumped off the side of my bed, hit the ground mid-stride, and slammed my bedroom door shut behind her. I looked at El Hubbo. He looked at me. "I can't believe that worked," he said. We waited to see if she would come back to investigate. She did not.
El Hubbo started laughing. He swore our little girl will need therapy because of me, however, I pointed out that we should reconsider her inclusion in the will as she was all too ready to leave us behind to be kidnapped by aliens. He had to admit I had a point.
I also had a new weapon. For two nights, we had no visitor to our bed. Clothes were picked up, toys put away. I only needed to remind her that at any time the aliens could return, and they really, really liked little girls who didn't listen to their mama. I even started calling her "Alien Bait". It was a blissfully peaceful few days. You may judge me for my parenting methods, but not tripping over stuffed animals and not gathering dirty panties from all over my house makes me not really care what you think.
But, then the little darling surprised me with this, "Mama, did you know aliens suck your brains? Zombies eat your brains, but aliens suck them." So, she was doing her homework. This is the child most likely to conquer a small country and install herself as dictator.
The next day, she dressed herself all in pink. Pink jeans, pink longsleeved shirt, pink shoes, pink socks, etc. She looked at me and said, "Mama, if those aliens come, I will just look at them and go: huuuuuuuuuuuccccckkkkkkkkssssssssss." The noise she made was somewhat like the warning sound a mama cat or perhaps a cougar makes to warn off someone nearing their cubs. She had her arms raised and hands up ready to attack. She made a kicking motion and gave me a defiant look. "I'm brave like Merida," she said. "I'll fight those aliens!" In her mind, the power of pink would be too much for the aliens to handle.
I knew it was too good to last.
Now, the excuse for staying in my bed is to protect ME from the aliens. Fare thee well, sweet rest.
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