I’m listening to Hootie and the Blowfish on vinyl.  I love listening to vinyl and have a modest collection, but Jason Derulo’s “Ridin’ Solo” is stuck in my head.  There’s a reason.  After 48 hours on my own, I’m riding solo with tonight’s bed time routine as the wife is at a business meeting.  I’m not a believer in karma, but, what comes around does go around.

After you’ve spent the past two and a half days by yourself, coming home and riding solo with the bed time routine feels like trying to jump on a train that’s moving at 100 mph.  It’s like being in the mountains on a wonderful day, only to have a blizzard blow in 5 minutes later.  This isn’t a complaint, it just catches you off guard.  Imagine going 65 mph down the freeway and having someone slam the car into reverse.

I love bed time.  It’s one of my favorite times of day.  Cute jammies, sippy cups of milk, the contented look on Tiny’s face after her bottle, Littles reading books to Tiny, snacks, and of course singing songs, saying prayers, hugs and goodnight.  It’s such an amazing time, until is isn’t.  On some nights, the blizzard comes, the car is slammed into reverse, and you just can’t catch that train.  Tonight was one of those nights, and I was riding solo.

EVERYTHING, becomes a battle.  Littles skipped her nap today, so she was like a walking zombie and completely over-tired.  Tiny thought bed time was happy hour, and treated her bottle like it was filled with antifreeze.  Brushing teeth became a hostage negotiation, as did “last chance potty.”  Putting jammies on was how I would imagine it would be to dress an octopus.  Tears were shed, jaws were clenched, time outs were had, and then…apologies, cooperation, cuddles, and sleep.

Then, an hour later, Littles woke up crying.  She was hysterical.  She threw up from crying.  She said her thumb hurt.  Her thumb?  Yep, her thumb.  We put a band aid on it and she calmed down.  Back to bed.  Ten minutes later…crying.  Her thumb hurt again.  I seriously don’t know what to do.  I’m desperate.  I’m rocking Littles…then, the wife comes home. Now, I’m always happy to see the wife, but this time, I was really happy to see the wife.

The wife is really smart, like really smart.  She also has a wonderful mother’s touch.  She should have been a doctor, but she once got a “C” in biology, so she gave up.  I don’t know if I really believe that, but either way, it sucks.  Anyway, the wife puts some nipple cream on Little’s thumb, wraps it in a couple of princess band aids, gives her some milk, and the miracle of sleep comes upon us once again.  We’re a great team.  The wife probably won’t be able to fix a chain on a bike, she won’t make sure Little’s car gets an oil change, but, she can fix a thumb.  Thank goodness.

After all of that, I’m looking at the monitor and wishing they were awake so I could play with them.  My monkeys, my circus.