Bedtime shenanigans

• By Alison
• 22 November, 2009
• 15 Comments

Bedtime in our house is a fixed point. It is 8 o’clock, and not a minute later.

Which is fine in theory, and generally works.

But there are those days when it seems that far too many giggle drops have been consumed, and where every command gets followed using the longest path possible. How long does it take to put on a pair of pajamas? In the normal world of a 5 year old, lets give it 5 minutes. But in the world of MY 5 year old, it’s going to be at least 15 minutes from point of fully dressed, to point of nudity. And then there is distraction and a disconcerting show of bottom wiggling and accompanying giggling.

Now that my inlaws have left – a week after the operation – I am on my own with them. But I can’t stand up and stand over them all the time, so I am making commands from the kitchen, where I am slowly moving stuff about.

Footsteps scamper down the stairs, and in comes Miss Trouble Pants. She is modelling the next thing in pajama wear, which is apparently a faux fur stole worn as a skirt. Fortunately her gingham pajama pants cover her modesty at the back, otherwise the enormous gap would be revealing a pair of pert and oh so perfect buttocks that I long to slice off and replace my own wide load with.

Miss Comic relief lacks any form of that dignity as she darts down the stairs next.

“Why is there a totally nude girl cavorting towards me?” I ask.

“I’m trying to do a wee mummy!”

“Not THERE you’re not! Get thee upstairs, small horror from the depths!”

“I CAN’T do a wee mummy, there is a bath letter in the toilet!”

We all long for that kind of news don’t we. There is an orange foam letter L floating about in the toilet bowl. And worse…

“There is also WEE in the toilet.” I say with the dawning of revulsion.

But I am a mother, and this is what we do. This is our charter. We use our bare hands to gingerly pluck the letter L from the jaundiced sea, and rinse it under the hot tap until it scalds our fingers. Then we toss it in the bath. Remind me not to suck my fingers for a day or two.

“Now I can do a POO!” laughs Miss Comic Relief.

“Good,” say I, “because if you’d decided to tell me that there was a letter L in the toilet AFTER you’d done that, there is no chance in the world that I would be recovering it.

Miss Comic Relief giggles and wiggles on the toilet, nearly weeing on the floor since paying attention isn’t her strong point. In fact, it isn’t something she does EVER. She is capable of falling over air while walking, simply because she’s not looking where she’s going. I think she forgets how to walk while mid-stride.

She doesn’t do a poo by the way. Either she forget to do it, or never needed to in the first place. Who knows.

I leave them in the bathroom while I carry some washing from room to room. I come back out of their bedroom to see a still naked number 2 daughter watching the flushing water go down in absolute fascination.

“Have you brushed your teeth?” I ask. But I don’t get an answer. Using the power of mime, she mimics brushing and then dances around backwards until she falls into the shower.

“BRUSH” I command imperiously, and then leave again. I am in my office in my office chair, which faces the bathroom, and is to the right of their bedroom. I can’t see what is going on in there. I can hear them bumbling around the bathroom, and catch glimpses of what appears to be dancing. Mostly led by the bum.. Miss Comic Relief is alternately scolding and crying between brushings. It’s all role play – the fake crying warbles and breaks into hysterical giggles before I get worried.

Miss Trouble Pants is back with an updated fashion show – a witches hat and a canary. I can hear Miss Comic relief in the background roaring at herself like a dinosaur. Miss Trouble Pants goes off to find more things to wear.

It goes quiet in the bathroom, and I can just see the edge of a pajama sleeve that appears to be in totally the wrong position for someone standing up – even some who is just 4 feet tall. I sidle up to the door and have a look. Miss Comic relief has put her cat toothbrush on the floor, and is lying on the stool pretending to swim.

“Have you finished brushing your teeth?” I ask from the doorway, making her fall of the stool in shock. She hasn’t even put the toothpaste on yet. 15 minutes in the bathroom with nothing to show for it.

We get the toothpaste on and I leave her to it, but within seconds she is singing a song. Something that shouldn’t be possible if you’re brushing your teeth. I stick my head back around the door and glare. I get a funny face, crossed eyes and a bottom wiggle.

Eventually they are both in bed. 413 stuff animals have been moved off the bed to allow access. Miss Comic Relief still hasn’t stopped moving, and is thrashing about, kicking her duvet into the right position. Which is on the floor apparently.

I turn off the light, I kiss goodnight gingerly trying to avoid a headbutt in the stomach, and look at the time. It’s 8.30pm. Not too bad for a typical night! But I really must remember to start the charade earlier!