Norah used to get up every few minutes to extend the starting hour of her slumber into the double digits, but now that she's more obediently heading to bed on time, Justin has decided it's his turn to cause some trouble. He wants to avoid bed by sitting with us on the couch or in his chair "to cuddle for just a little bit." When sufficient time and patience have elapsed we send him off to bed, but he doesn't go without protest and significant negotiation. He invests many tears in these negotiations to soften us up, then states his terms:
1. I want my door open (so he can escape the monsters)
2. I want the light on (so he can see the monsters)
3. I want my window (blinds) open (nobody knows why)
4. I need my baseball bat (for monsters)
5. I need my pirate sword (also for monsters)
6. I need my screwdriver (ironically also for monsters)
Someday we expect demands of $1 million and a helicopter on the roof, but thankfully that demand has not yet materialized.
As with all good compromises, nobody is ever happy. After we come to terms regarding cuddle time, doors, lights, windows, and armament stockpiles of sporting goods, tools, and pirate swords, two little shuffling feet materialize out of thin air under a bouncing and levitating, green blanket .
Phase II Negotiations commence as he attacks the perceived weakest link, "Mommy, I forgot to get a hug and kiss.""I will give you a hug and kiss, but you have to go to bed or I'm turning off the light and shutting the door." An agreement is forged. He goes to bed.
"Daddy, I forgot to get a hug and kiss."
He's reminded of the penalty for another jailbreak, counters with a more aggressive production of tears, other privileges are threatened, and he finally agrees to go peacefully to bed...again. Success seems imminent until he balks and skitters into the living room with his blanket over his head, recklessly careening off furniture, stumbling over toys, losing traction on the tile, giggling all the way in a desperate hope that he can speak to our playful side.
Negotiations cease. I'm not asking, I'm telling. Lights out. Door shut. End of discussion. Do not get up again.
"Okay, Daddy."
The couch creaks as I sit down, which suddenly seems to trigger the almost simultaneous flick of the hall light switch and the pitter-patter of little feet scampering back to Justin's room. A thump and a light squeak of bed springs signal the return to base camp following completion of a successful sortie. A quick swishing and rustling of blankets are heard as he camouflages himself, making it apparent that he never left his bed, the light flicked itself or maybe the monsters did it. He was obediently sleeping until he saw your shadow in the doorway. Right.
I smile, amused by the rebellion but frustrated that disciplinary actions are completely disregarded. A deal is a deal, and the deal was broken, you must enforce rules, it's for his own good. So the couch creaks, I flip the light switch off, "flick", and return to the couch which creaks with disapproval.
I hear a gentle swishing and "flick". The light is on again, pitter-patter, thump. Squeaks and rustling confirm he's back in bed. "Flick!" I quickly crouch assuming the posture of a stalking hunter out of view on the opposite side of the hall as the darkness returns. Squeak, swish, pitter-patter, the doorknob rattles.... and silence falls as a little silhouette freezes in the center of the hallway, suddenly aware he's stumbled into an ambush. He stands his ground for a moment with the silence ringing in our ears, then he turns, shuts the door behind him, pitter-patter, swish, squeak, swish, and silence at last.
The couch creaks as I sit down and tell Mommy "See, that's how it's done! He had no idea I was there, you should have seen him freeze in place. He knew he was busted. It was so hard not to laugh, but I don't think he's going to do that again."
Flick. The hall light is on.Again.
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