Why It's Good to Have a Glass of Wine Before Putting the Young-uns to Bed
Bedtime rituals are great fun. Parents and children appreciate time together--sometimes the only chance you have during the day to have a conversation with them. These are happy days in a man's life. Hell, you make your child happy merely by reading another book (when they are 16, I'll have to invest thousands of dollars in a car to get the same smile).
I tried to remind myself of that after last night.
I was reading to Daniel in the tight confines of his upper bunk. I get a little claustro up there at times and kids have absolutely no sense of personal space. The boy picked a goobery booger out of his nose while I was explaining how The Mystery Treehouse couldn't really go back to dinosaur time. He and I looked at the offending semi-hard mucus. We had a problem on our hands--to get back out of the bed requires a lot of effort and reshuffling and delays (because kids out of bed at bedtime find anything to do except come directly back). No problem, "wipe it on your pj's--we'll wash 'em soon."
I just didn't want him to eat the thing.
He looks at me, then at the booger and, quick as a magician, wiped that booger on my lips. I was stunned, and quietly started to boil, but the blood pressure came down quickly thanks to nature's great elixer. I wiped my mouth on his pj's and asked that "he never do that again." From the look in his eyes, I'm not sure he won't.
Bedtime rituals are great fun. Parents and children appreciate time together--sometimes the only chance you have during the day to have a conversation with them. These are happy days in a man's life. Hell, you make your child happy merely by reading another book (when they are 16, I'll have to invest thousands of dollars in a car to get the same smile).
I tried to remind myself of that after last night.
I was reading to Daniel in the tight confines of his upper bunk. I get a little claustro up there at times and kids have absolutely no sense of personal space. The boy picked a goobery booger out of his nose while I was explaining how The Mystery Treehouse couldn't really go back to dinosaur time. He and I looked at the offending semi-hard mucus. We had a problem on our hands--to get back out of the bed requires a lot of effort and reshuffling and delays (because kids out of bed at bedtime find anything to do except come directly back). No problem, "wipe it on your pj's--we'll wash 'em soon."
I just didn't want him to eat the thing.
He looks at me, then at the booger and, quick as a magician, wiped that booger on my lips. I was stunned, and quietly started to boil, but the blood pressure came down quickly thanks to nature's great elixer. I wiped my mouth on his pj's and asked that "he never do that again." From the look in his eyes, I'm not sure he won't.
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