No, it's not a euphamism. Lil Poot has been giving us a hell of a time going to bed lately. She's learned to play us like a xylophone, but I'm on to her tricks. And so we have the 5 stages of bedtime:
Denial: No, it's not bedtime. It's still morning time. (that means it's daylight out)
Bargaining: One more minute.
Anger: No! I don't WANT to brush my teeth!
Depression, actually Despair: "Waaaaahhhhh!!!!!" (Imagine crying with a doppler effect as I walk with said kid under arm down the hall)
Exhaustion: But I'm not sleepzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....
So, back to Ninja Kid. The Poot has the most amazing imagination I've ever encountered. It's not just active, it's actually elastic and pliable and can stretch around corners and into crevices.
True story:On Mother's Day the Sunday school people had the kids make little plastic stained-glass thingies for the kids to paint. I come to pick Poot up and she's crying her eyes out and I can't really get at what's bothering her. I think she's telling me that she didn't get to make one and now they don't have any left and she's upset. Except that, while I'm sitting in the hallway of church trying to console her, another mom, who's in the hallway also with a crying kid, says, "I know she made one." And then, "Hey, what's her name?"
Little side note: We just discovered Monsters, Inc. Of course, we have to act out EVERY part. "You be Sully and I'll be Boo." "You be Mike and I'll be Sully." "You be Smoochy Poo and I'll be Mike." Ad infinitum. Except that she got bored being the good guys and started pretending to be Randall, the scary monster and so we became accustomed to her flinging herself at us and growling and we'd have to act scared and she'd be screaming, "I'm RAndall! I'm RAndall!"
See where this is going?
When I dropped her off in Sunday school, she told everyone her name was RAndall. And the person who took her craft and wrote her name on it, wrote Randall. Mystery solved, I found my Mommy gift and the waterworks were shut down.
So tonight, on the 3 attempt to get her into bed, she wangled into her red Ninja costume and brandished her sword at me. Fortunately I pulled some fast Tommy Wu moves, disarmed her and carried her off to bed. Sad to see a ninja cry, really. Finally, I put her into her little bed that we've been transitioning to. Got the pillow just so, put a pad under her(still toilet training), pulled the covers up and kissed her. I climbed into my bed. A few minutes later, from the dark, I hear, "But Mama, I miiiiiisssss youuuuuu." How can you even be mad at such cuteness. She's a scamp and a rascal and I love her to pieces.
Quote of the day is from an old post on Revive Hope, from a young man named Nate who became an organ donor:
"A little girl hugged me today. I think maybe I’m on the right path. I’m not sure if I like where the path might lead, but it is a really nice path. Is it possible that we, as a culture, focus too much on the light at the end of the tunnel, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Isn’t it enough to realize you’re standing on a goddamn rainbow."