Make no mistake about it, the bedtime routine in our house still kind of sucks.
Sure, there are occasions where B and J, when told to go to bed, will happily oblige, settle down for the night, and be asleep in no time.
There are also occasions where February has 29 days.
This occurs about as often as an easy bedtime for us.
See, what usually happens is that when B and J know Mr. Sandman is coming, they’re like Olympic runners nearing the finish line. They get one final adrenaline rush, and to quote Fat Joe, go ALL THE WAY UP!
Unfortunately, some of these ALL THE WAY UP nights are so bananas , that I gotta give them their own category, which I’ve dubbed The Bedtime WTF Awards.
The other night was one of those nights. Ladies and gentleman, your nominees are:
K left to pick up some stuff, so it was just me with the kids.
Before going to bed, B and J were assigned a very straightforward task- clean up the playroom which they had spent the afternoon destroying:
The first thing that they decided to do?
Instead of putting on pyjamas, they stripped down to their underwear.
I went downstairs to do some tidying up. After a few minutes of silence, I heard footsteps, followed by B screaming, followed by laughter. A few seconds later, there were footsteps, followed by J screaming, followed by laughter. I went up, to see what was going on:
Me – “What are you doing?”
B – “Oh, we’re just pretending that we’re walking by and don’t know we’re there, and jumping out and scaring each other.”
When you were little, did you a play a rousing game of “half-naked creeper terrifies innocent bystander?” Of course you didn’t (but if you did…….how are you reading this from your jail cell?).
Anyway, I squashed that game, and told them to get back to cleaning.
Note this for later – J smelled delicious. Her and B told me that she put some scented hand cream on, because J wanted to smell nice for work, or something like that.
I supervised them for a bit, and watched them put toys in a big toy bin. Things were going well, so I left them alone. Not long after, I heard the sound of something being dragged. Confused, I went up to check. The toy bin had been emptied, and J was now sitting in it, with B using the rope handle to pull it along.
B – ” I’m just taking her for a ride!”
While impressed by B’s strength for a six year old boy, I was also annoyed. The playroom was now messier than before. I squashed their rousing game of Toronto rickshaw tour driver, and once again told them to get to work, in no uncertain terms.
I monitored them for a few minutes, to keep them on track. Satisfied with the progress, I decided to leave, to resume my cleaning. After a good long time of blissful, shenanigan-free silence, I came back to the playroom, to see how it was looking.
When I walked in, B was bent over to the top of a shelving unit, butt in the air.
J, meanwhile, was holding a fly swatter, as if she were about to hit him in the underwear with it.
I didn’t even ask what they were doing.
I just cut their rousing game of 50 Shades of Grey short, and told them to get clothes on ASAP.
After about an hour in the room, here is how B and J made out on their mission:
Hey, it doesn’t look exactly the same! Do you see the toy microphone that was in the first picture? No, because they put it away!
Regardless, after this lacklustre effort, K eventually came home. The kids’ mission was deemed a failure for the evening, and they were sent to their rooms. While upstairs, K asked about the smell. I told her that J got into some hand cream.
After more inspection, we realized that she didn’t just get into the cream.
She got the cream into one of the toilets. As in, she smeared it all over the inside of the bowl.
That night’s winner? The toilet. It smelled like candy canes for days afterwards.
That night’s loser? Me.