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Bedtime Battle Showdown … My Salvation: Framboise

16 Mar

Normally I’m not a raging alcoholic, but after two weeks of consecutive 13-hour days with both kids and minimal “me” time, other than the two-minute “time-out” sessions I took for myself in the bathroom, I was about to drink the two bottles of Lambic Framboise in hopes of relieving the stress from Friday Night Bedtime Battle Showdown. Normally I’d drink Patron, but I thought that’s a little too raging, Framboise a little more subtle.

When exercise doesn't cut it ... my stress reliever

In that corner: 36-pound basketball-pajama wearing three-year old accompanied by his 21-pound onesie-wearing sibling with sneaky smiles.

In this corner: The Guat, usually an upbeat sporty-spice who’s become a worn-down mom that’s accumulated more gray hairs and wrinkles this week.

If you have kids you may be familiar with battle of the bedtimes. Prior to being a guest at my mom’s house this wasn’t really an issue … maybe once in a blue moon my three-year old would act up, but I wouldn’t say it was a problem. However, recently bedtime has become such a frustrating battle  that the vein in my neck has a permanent imprint from where it bulges out.

It’s not like he refuses to go to bed. We have our routine. Always been the same. Eight o’clock comes around he’s showered and ready for some Dr. Seuss, Laura Numeroff, Sandra Boynton, Tony Mitton, Ant Parker, or Eric Carle books. After we’re done, he gets into bed all comfy, cozy, but it just takes longer for him to fall asleep.

And if I don’t get him showered on time … forget about it … He’s watching Dave Letterman. A few times he stays there awake, moving around, talking to his teddy bear until ten o’clock, sometimes later. Thus leaving me with little time to wash dishes and bottles before trying to relax in front of the television.

It’s not like I like to wash dishes. In fact it’s the chore I hate the most. Some might say just leave a dirty kitchen and let it go, but I’m the type of person that needs to have an empty sink and clean kitchen before I can relax. If only my mom believed in dishwashers, but apparently those are for lazy asses. So my hands aren’t too supple, more like the hands of a carpenter who’s been on the job twenty years.

It’s been difficult to say the least. I felt like breaking down like those mom chicks from Sex & The City 2. Have you seen this?

Yeah … but they have nannies. I have myself. I am the nanny, the cook, the diaper changer, the milk producer, the bottle-go-getter, the bath time giver, the baseball pitcher, the funny-face maker, the golf caddy, the Play-Doh creator, the dancing partner to the “I Like To Move It, Move It” song, the Lego’s construction builder, the co-pilot on my son’s imaginary airplane/fire engine/submarine that fights crime, and the dog walker. That’s me … all before lunch. No nanny. No cleaning lady. Just The Guat. 

So by the time I get to bedtime I’m just ready to have them pass out and go into a deep, deep sleep so that I can somehow enjoy television or just enjoy a quiet moment where nobody says anything … just silence.  Quiet is awesome.

So when bedtime becomes a battle or either of them just gives me issues I get so frustrated. I don’t want to be that mom that constantly tells their kid if you don’t go to sleep right now, you won’t be able to play with any cars, monster trucks, trains or sports stuff ever again! I mean it! I’ll take them to the trash.

I tried that … it doesn’t work.

I was so desperate I was about to Google “bedtime problems with three-year olds and seven-month old babies” and hope some self-help answer would come slap me in the face.

But alas … there was no super-secret answer other than some crazy note about slipping some Children’s Benadryl into their night-time sippy cups. I don’t like having crappy frustrating endings to pleasant days. Sometimes it just sucks the awesomeness out of the day.

It has to be a phase.

That’s what I tell myself, or at least that’s what I’m hoping. After the Framboise, I tell myself tomorrow will be better and he’ll get back into his normal sleeping pattern.

I hope tomorrow gets here soon. The stores are running out of Framboise.

Sometimes you need more than a life preserver

12 Jan

You ever feel like you’re just staying afloat with a second-hand life preserver from a garage sale and then something or someone pulls the tape off the gaping hole, which then sucks out the remaining air in the process? 


That’s what the unexpected feels like. Things like speeding tickets and pimples. Or in my case a $626 bill from some ultrasound that happened about 11 months ago and my kid is five months old. What is that and why am I just getting it now? Where’s my insurance?

I’m trying to rack up enough money here so that I can move out of my parent’s place and I get hit with something like that. I thought I had insurance. I thought all the bills were paid five months ago when we brought the baby home. What are these trickling financial side effects of birth? In addition to the $626, I got another bill for $174 for the anesthesiologist. Dude. I was there for one day and one night. It’s not like I got a suite at the Bellagio in Vegas. I was at the hospital experiencing the painful miracle of birth. And here I am five months later continuing to receive bills. I thought I’d get pediatrician bills yes…definitely yes. Giving birth bills no…no. I thought that was done.

Pre-natal care, hospital fees, doctor bill, anesthesiologist, lab results and pediatrician exam. If I had shown up in an ambulance I would have to sell my car.

I went through the entire wonderful customer service representative experience that seemed to raise my blood pressure and that cost is still up in the air with my insurance company. I’m hoping it’s an error. As for the anesthesiologist…well that happened to be out-of-pocket. I don’t know why it took them five months, and neither do they, but apparently the billing clerk had a valid point. $174 seems like a good deal for a less painful birthing experience. I mean you did need it, didn’t you? Dude…like I need oxygen.   

So for now the unexpected continues and the holes in my financial life preserver keep getting bigger. Suze Orman would be so disappointed.