Bedtime Routine

“You can do it. You can make it. You are almost to the finish line. Ready, get set, GO!” I prompt myself as I attempt to hoist my resisting body off of the warm couch. “Time to get ready for bed!” I call to my son. “Go get your toothbrush.” I brace myself for the stream of whining that is bound to follow my announcement. Sure enough, my son assures me, he simply is not tired, not done playing, and certainly not ready to go to bed. I smile as my manipulative mom mind goes to work. “I bet I can get my toothbrush before you!” I challenge, as I run to the bathroom. With his interest piqued, my little boy whirls past me and jumps to his toothbrush. Satisfied, I pull out the toothpaste. Side by side we brush, spit, rinse, and smile. Then off to the room we skip. Errrrrrrrrrrrrk! I slide to a full stop. My eyes take in a mountain of clothes, toys, books, puzzles, a rotten banana peel, and one half of the door to my special jewelry box. First, disbelief spills through me. This room was clean this morning! That disbelief soon turns to a rush of rage. I shoot my eyes at my son as he lifts his hands up for a hug and says “Sorry Mommy.” I want to yell. No, more like I want to cry-yell. The kind of yell that makes it hard to tell if you're crying because you're mad or if you're mad because you are crying. I suck in my anger and hug my son and thank him for saying sorry. “What happened?” I ask, “Did you forget the one toy at a time rule?” Guilt glides briefly across his face but quickly changes to angelic. “I'll help you clean it up for a treat.” He replies innocently. After rejecting that kind offer, I put my night clothes on while my little mess maker cleans up his disaster, no treats attached. At last, his bedroom is clean enough that I can navigate to the bed. Unfortunately, his pajamas are nowhere to be found, so I find a baggy shirt, drape it over his head and call it good. The little boy knows what's next without me saying a word. He rummages through the bookshelf looking for the book with the most words per page. Next, his bargaining begins. “Five books, can I hear five? No? Fine four, four books going once, twice, no? Fine… three, I got three, please Mommy, let's read three books. Alright, two books, two books, two, going once, twice, sold for two books!” He shakes my hand and says “Deal!” and then curls up on my lap as I open the first of the books. I let him know I'm summarizing because there are too many words, but he doesn't care. As I read, my genius son points out some of the letters he recognizes. Pride swells in my center as we sit together reading. Once the story has ended I tuck my baby boy in. “You are forgetting three, ummm no four things” He quizzes me. My eyes, already drooping with the idea of sleep, stare questioningly back. He lists, “Scriptures, prayer, song, hug and kiss. Oh! That was five things.” He realizes. He puts his hand on his forehead and shakes it as if disappointed in his error. After we read scriptures, I shift his weight onto the bed so we can say our prayers. I begin the prayer, but, somewhere in-between, my sweet boy adds a plea to ward off monsters. Then, he continues, “Thanks for candy, and mommy, and my brothers Gabe and Carly and my bear Vanessa.” He finishes the prayer off with a loud, “Amen!” I smile because he is an only child, yet he sees everyone as his brother. I pull the child in for a hug and a kiss. He kisses my hand and tells me he loves me in return. We lay down with the night light dancing, his hands wrapped in my already tangled hair. “I am brave, I am bruised, I am who I meant to be,” I sing his favorite song as he drifts to his dreams. I continue singing long after his snores have begun. My mind, though tired, is at peace. I hold onto the moment, afraid it will slip away too quickly. The seemingly forever long bedtime routine will be far too short when he is grown.