I forgot the cardinal rule of parenting last night.
As my newly created adage goes: “When bedtime is missed, the toddler gets p—-d.”
(That should be on t-shirts. Seriously. I am mega-proud of that one.)
Usually the kids go to bed around 8pm, but I am an idiot and I took them out to the YMCA while Daddy was at a rehearsal in town. We had to wait until he was done at 9pm. By the time we got home, it was fastly approaching 10pm.
The boys were over-tired and crabby, but they fell asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillows. Aili, on the other hand, went Sleepy-insane.
She started howling about the pillow pet that got left in the car, then she was howling about needing a snack, and then it was about a story.
“I need a bedtime story!!!” she squealed so high, it allowed dogs across the state to hear her shrill pleas.
“Here’s your story,” I said. “Once upon a time there was a princess who wouldn’t go to bed. She was eaten by a dragon. The end.”
“That’s not a story!” my little gremlin growled at me. “It needs PICTURES.”
I contemplated drawing that story up for her, but that seemed like a bit much.
“Here’s another story,” I sighed. “Once upon a time a little princess missed her bedtime because she was busy playing in tot watch. Her mother knows better than to ever do that again because it makes the princess turn in to a gremlin. And then they were all eaten by dragons. The end. I love you. Good night.”
That story did the trick, more or less, and Princess Crabby-butt huffed off to bed and fell asleep in seconds.