Any Delay

Every night, for about twenty minutes after Brad puts Grace to bed, we hear, "Mom! I have to tell you somp-thin. Just ONE MORE THIIINNG!" That claim is, of course, false. It usually becomes fifteen to twenty things. On a lucky day.

But believe it or not, that's progress, folks.

Earlier this year, I was ready to pull my hair out over the issue. I had become the temporary bedtime parent because of our frequent Brad-less trips to Texas.

And bedtime wasn't going well. The whole process had become an hour-and-a-half ordeal. And I was exasperated. I was looking for a way to improve. 

And so, after one particularly difficult night, I planned to record our bedtime routine, listen to it the next day, and write down any ways I felt I could do better.

It didn't work. It was a bad night. I got angry. And I had no desire to relive that night and revive my frustration by listening to the recording. So I didn't. 

Until, of course, today. And, if you'd like, so can you. Well, two minutes of it anyway. Two minutes which might be exceptionally boring for you. Or funny. I can't tell. I am not objective in this situation.

Just remember: I was angry. Have mercy on me. I won't judge your parenting either.