Fear and Parenting in Las Vegas

Go to bed, Doodle.

No. I play, Mommy.

Nope. Time for sleep, Doodle. Good night.

Covers Mommy!

Fine.

I pull the blankets over him.

Hugga Kiss, Mommy!

Okay. Hugga Kiss.

Good night, Doodle.

Leave door open, Mommy!

Fine.

I pull the door partially closed so the noise from downstairs doesn’t disturb him.

DOOR OPEN MOMMY!

Fine.

I push the door wide open.

Go to sleep. If you get out of bed (insert consequence here).

I head downstairs to enjoy my late dinner.

Patter Patter Squeak Squeak.

He is at the bottom of the stairs.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Suddenly a light bulb appears, illuminating my frustrated and cloudy mind.

Doodle, you know something?

Wha Mommy?

You can only grow when you’re sleeping.

Rewy? I growing, Mommy.

Only when you sleep.

But I don’t want to sleep.

Well, you need about another four inches to get on those “big kid” rides at Disneyland. So, you’d better get to sleep ifyou want to be big enough before our next trip. Okay?

We going to Disneywand?

Not for awhile, but you’ve got a lot of growing to do. So, you’d better get sleeping.

Okay, Mommy.

Covers!

Check.

Hugga Kiss?

Check.

Good night, Doodle.

Good night, Mommy.

And, believe it or not, the little screwball stayed in bed.

……………………………………………………….

Fast forward to the next morning. I am getting ready in the bathroom when Doodle waddles in.

Mommy? I go potty, please?

Sure, dude. Knock yourself out.

He lifts the lid and the seat, shimmies down his jammie bottoms.

Hold my shirt up, Mommy.

He looks down at his junk as he takes aim with his personal firehose.

Mommy!

What Doodle?

I GREW!

Oy vey. Yes, Doodle. You grew.