The SMD: Dreadtime

I can remember being really excited to hit the hay, as a kid. That love hasn’t left me as an adult (we are sleep deprived as a race), Logan on the other hand, hates it. HATE. Like, she will stay up until she collapses mid Spongebob belly laugh, hate. It’s her sassy little way of giving me the middle finger, and I hate how effective it is. When she has been denied something she feels she’s entitled to, seen a show that scared her (after insisting upon watching it) or the "not tired" skitzoids. To our credit, the meltdowns in public, breaking of important personal effects, and the Wolverine berserker freak outs are employed less and less. I let the cat out of the bedtime bag a while ago though, I showed how exasperating it really is to me that she won’ t just submit and let me have the few hours of no kid time I get. Time used to work, write, clean or just vegetate depending. It's mandatory and always one of the sure highlights of my day, in all honesty.

She’s four and we’ve gone rounds since she was first asked to go it alone. She’ll go for a week or two without a hitch, lulling me into a false sense of pride in her big-girl progression. Then she makes with the stubborn with glorious fury and we battle. Not in an I’m-trying-to-be-good-don’t-be-mad-please way. She full on saunters out with an impish gleam of delight in her eyes, or struts out with a hey-hows-it-going-what’s-the-good-word nonchalance that’s almost worse.

You’re not supposed to show anger (or bile filled rage) as it fuels the fire, so I effed it all up in the first place, I know. Can't blame her for that, but I refuse to excuse her completely. She's smarter and better than that. Since I realized how pivotal my reactions are, I’ve walked away from the scene of spoiled brat whinefest many a time uttering “Faussssting FFFSSSHHHineballer….assk-erfuuuudge ewwwwww!” I could be paraphrasing. She reduces me to a disgruntled network non-swearing employee and she could care less. I’ve created an asshole.

We’ve tried a good many angles on this drain of sanity and swear words, as any parent does. Recently though, she’s grounded the day following a relapse (in excess of three times out of bed, grounded means no computer, fun snacks or communal areas), gentle coaxing if she gets shaky and I see the impish glint before lights out. It works the best so far, yet in the first few seconds of a breakdown, I instantly want to throat chop her to save her from herself. Instead I non-swear more and try again.

The heartstrings get worked a lot at bedtime, but after she finally wises up and takes my advice…I walk by her room and see that curly little head on her pillow, such a peaceful lamb of adorable serenity…I take a mental picture so I can recall it tomorrow night when I need it most. Then I haul ass to the no-kid time, and I enjoy the shit out of it.