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Family Daze
Bedtime's not the right time for clever sleeping strategies
By Debbie Farmer
'We need to do something about the children's bedtime, " I said to my husband one morning as I crawled into the kitchen toward the coffee maker. "We need to be more consistent. In the last two weeks it's progressed from 8:30 p.m. to somewhere between bath time and breakfast." I groped across the counter for the coffee filters. "The kids have started humming the theme song from the Late Show, and they're on a first-name basis with the garbage collectors. I found them on the driveway this morning before dawn discussing odorous debris with two guys named Al and Lenny."
My husband stared at me while I poured cereal into the filters. "I just want to be able to sleep eight hours in a row like a normal person!" I said.
He gently patted my arm as I fought the urge to doze off on the counter.
After I finished my coffee, I staggered to the store and bought a parenting book that I hoped would give me some ideas. I opened it to the chapter on sleep and read the first suggestion: Relax your child with a warm bath.
That evening I ran the water and called my children to the tub while I joyfully anticipated the relaxed, calm evening ahead.
As soon as my daughter got into the tub she asked for her box of washable fingerpaint bubble bath (a birthday gift from a childless relative) and Mermaid Barbie. By the time she got out, the bathroom looked like a crime scene in a murder mystery. As soon as my son got into the tub he wanted his submarine commando, his water gun and all of his plastic boats.
When bath time was finally over, I realized it would've been easier to bathe, say, all of the neighborhood cats--and I could've saved time by bypassing the tub and pouring all the water directly onto the bathroom floor after throwing every toy we owned into the bathroom.
"Hurry up, Mom!" my daughter said. "We'll miss Jay Leno."
The next day I turned to the chapter on alternative suggestions and read: Prepare your child to sleep by reading a bedtime story.
That evening, after I bathed my children, they picked out "Little Red Riding Hood." They listened quietly as I read. But, when I had finished, they were so frightened by the grandmother having to be cut out the wolf's stomach they couldn't sleep.
The next day I stumbled down the stairs and kept my eyes open long enough to read the chapter on desperate measures, which suggested I "lengthen the bedtime routine."
Since ours was lengthy enough, I decided to start our routine earlier. "OK, kids," I said during dinnertime. "Two more bites then let's get ready for bed."
My children looked confused, but they went upstairs anyway. But, when we finished with the bedtime routine, I was the only one tired enough to sleep.
"Mommy, can we lie down next to you?"
I vaguely wondered what Freud would say, but I thought it couldn't hurt for a while. Besides, I was exhausted. They snuggled against me and were asleep in two minutes.
I nudged my husband awake. "Help me move the kids to their beds," I whispered. "There's not enough room for all of us in here. Besides, according to my mother, this could scar them for life."
We looked at their innocent, sleeping faces. "But, what if they wake up?" he said.
I got out of bed and motioned for him to follow me. "Do you want the Cinderella canopy or the racecar bed?" I whispered.
"I'll take the car. I can shift the headboard into third gear and rest my feet on the tires."
"OK," I said, "See you tomorrow."
I gave him a kiss. Then I went into my daughter's room, climbed under the canopy--and fell fast asleep.
Debbie Farmer can be contacted at debbie@ecis.com.
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Saratoga, California Since 1955
