Bedtime is my favorite time of the day. But not for the reasons I know you're thinking I'm thinking but, I'm not really thinking what you think I'm thinking.
Yes, the peace can be nice, the quiet can be relieving, the mess can be scary, but knowing it won't get any bigger until the next morning is comforting.
But the hardest parts of a day for me is when my kids get mad, grouchy, whiny, mean, or sad. And the results often times seem to be MY fault.
No, you can't have ice cream for breakfast.
You need to pick up your toys before you go play.
You need to finish your dinner before you can have a cookie.
It doesn't matter if that is yours. You can't attack your sibling to get it back.
No, you can't drive the car.
No, you can't play on dad's computer.
No, you can't color on the walls.
No, you can't climb into the refridgerator to get the milk.
Stop picking your nose.
And so on, and so forth. As a parent, it is your job to be the "bad guy" sometimes.
So, no matter how terrible of a parent I was that day. How frustrated I got or how mean my kids had been, bedtime is always the same.
As I finally get them tucked into their beds, maybe after a bedtime story or song, I say, "Goodnight, I love you."
And as I start to close the door, three little voices yell back as loud as they can, "Good night, I love you!" Or in Jacob's case, "Goonigh, I yu you!"
As I close the door, I say it again.
And as I'm walking away, down the hall, I can still here three little voices yelling once or twice more, " Good night!" I love you!"
Perhaps I can do this mom thing after all.