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Posts Tagged ‘storybook CD management’

Let’s face it: there’s an awkward gap between bedtime and actual sleeptime.

In this household, this gap is traditionally filled by the kids listening to storybook CDs in bed, something which require no parental input – except, of course, when the CD needs changing, at which point Mr Justice will call “Finished!” and the parent in charge will call back “Coming!” and try to find the remote control to pause the DVD he or she has optimistically started watching, but for some reason Mr Justice will not quite hear the call or will grow rapidly dissatisfied with the parental response time and will roar “FINISHED!” again, forcing the parent to roar back “COMINGGGGGG!!!” and accidentally knock over a glass of wine or trip over the homicidal cat, which will delay them even further and cause all three children to chime together “FINISHED!” and make the parent burst a blood vessel when they shout back “I’M COMMMMMMIIINNNNNGGGGGG!”.

Of course, with all that shouting and carry-on, sleeptime is pushed just that little further back. Nice work, everyone.

In the middle of this year, we made the interesting decision to put the boys in separate bedroom from The Pixie so now we have two CD players to manage. Sometimes, I feel like a flippin’ DJ working two dancefloors or that I’m living in the middle of one of those Crazy Warehouse Guy ads, what with all the shouting and banging for attention.

It can be a little… annoying.

But add a few more things to the mix and it becomes interminable.

For example, add a puppy. And not just any old puppy, but a puppy who automatically cranks the dial up to 11 the minute the kids are tucked up in their beds, like she’s just been directly injected with yellow food colouring mixed with pseudoephedrine.  She just runs around from room to room, bed to bed, revving everyone up. But don’t try to put the puppy outside. Oh, no. She’ll only recreate that famous scene from The Shining where Jack Nicholson breaks down the door – except instead of an axe, she’ll just be using sheer enthusiasm.

Now add a four year old who claims to be “so scared” and insists that he needs “somebody to sleep wid him” – that “somebody” being me and not, say, the freebasing puppy.

And then take away my husband. Yes, that’s it. Put him on a plane and send him interstate. Don’t bother reminding him it was his idea to get a puppy before going away for practically two weeks. He’ll deny it. Because he can. He’s 800km away, you know.

With this heady  mix, my evening ends up like one of those children’s games where you whack one thing down with a hammer, only to have another thing pop up elsewhere – usually in the form of a figure at the doorway informing me that her contractually-agreed “fresh water” hasn’t been provided or, just as I’m creeping out of the bedroom away from the now-sleeping four year old, a puppy rushing at me with such great speed that I get winded and the four year-old leaps up and shouts “I’m awake!!” quickly followed by “And I’m scared!” when he realises I’m trying to make a getaway.

Is it little wonder that, three nights out of four this week, I’ve ended up drinking wine and watching ‘Arrested Development’ with the four year old sleeping on my lap and the puppy gnawing the side of the sofa we’re sitting on because I’m sooooo way past the point of giving a shit? I mean, if that gap between bedtime and sleeptime is going to be so interminable, it may as well be filled with cheap wine and good TV. No, really.

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