(Listening to “Times of Trouble” by Temple of the Dog)

Sometimes, my 3-year-old knows my capacity for frustration.  I don’t know how, but she does, and I adore her for it.

The wife was at a business meeting tonight, so I got to do bedtime by myself.  It’s really not that big of a deal, but sometimes it can be a bit of an adventure getting an ever-moving 1-year-old, and a “not tired” 3-year-old to sleep.  It can be smooth as silk and other times all bets are off.  That’s just how it is with little kids.  The can be Jekyll, or they can be Hyde.

Usually, I really enjoy bedtime.  We get to read books, have snacks, sing songs, tell stories, do prayers, and snuggle.  It’s a special time for me.  I just love putting them down to sleep and tucking them in.  On rare occasions, it’s like a hostage negotiation to get them to do two of those things.  You want to just shut the door, walk out into the street, and scream. That’s really rare though.  Even so, I still enjoy doing our bedtime routine.

With that said, there’s one X-Factor when putting the kids down by myself.  Our cat, Whampy.  He has the magical ability to take a mildly annoying situation, and make me go out of my mind.  Usually, he’s a great companion.  He’s a cuddly tabby who just loves to roll up in a ball and snuggle.  He really is awesome and has a great personality.  He isn’t snotty and doesn’t just hide.  He likes being around us and he’s great with our kids.  They smother and “smoosh” him with their affection, and he doesn’t mind at all.  He loves sleeping with us.  About 5 minutes after I go to bed, I hear a couple of little meows, the door will creak open, and “Pfffff,” Whampy will land on the comforter, curl up in my legs, and go to sleep.  We love him and he’s a part of our family.  With that said, there are times where he is a complete butthead.  That’s what he was tonight.  The X-factor in full swing.

His dinner time is right at 7pm and if he doesn’t get his food, he lets you know about it by meowing up and down the hallway while you’re trying to put kids to bed.  Tonight, I tried to sidestep that landmine by feeding him a bit early because I knew I’d be busy putting the girls down at 7; but even after he ate, he still wanted to work his frustrating magic, and that’s what he did.

Tiny was a little fussy tonight because she had a late nap.  So I’m trying to rock her and she’s squirming all over the place, knocking her bottle away, scratching my face, and grabbing my beard.  It’s about a 2 out of 10 on my frustration scale.  She calmed down and just as she was dozing off, I hear, “Meow, meow, meow!’ all the way down the hall, followed by a creak of the door.  Tiny immediately went from dozing off, to wide-eyed, wanting to see her buddy.  That just took me to 4 out of 10.  I kicked him out of Tiny’s room, shut the door, and started rocking Tiny again. Big mistake.  Just as she was again getting sleepy, I hear, “Scratch, scratch, scratch!’ on the door.  It’s like nails on a chalkboard and instantly makes my blood boil.  Tiny immediately opened her eyes and looked at the door.  I’m at a solid 7 out of 10.  I got up, opened the door, and yelled at Whampy to scare him off.  I left the door cracked open so he wouldn’t scratch it and went back to getting Tiny to sleep.  Just as her eyes were getting heavy, he headbutts the door open and Tiny cocks her head around to see what’s going on.  Whampy just sits in the doorway with a “you’re going to pay attention to me whether you get that baby to sleep or not” look on his face.  Make that 8 out of 10.  Finally, I just power through.  I let him sit there, and Tiny starts to get droopy eyes once again before I set her down in her crib for the night.  She’s out for the count.  As I close the door and walk down the hall, Whampy gives me his last trick; he tries to get tangled up in my feet, sort of a special kitty middle-finger as icing on the cake.  Ugh.  Have fun in the basement.

Meanwhile, Littles, my 3-year-old, is supposed to be having quiet time in her room while all of this is going on.  Once quiet time is done, then it’s time for Littles’ nighttime routine.  She’s not having quiet time though.  While I was getting the finger from Whampy, Littles was sitting on the toilet.  I noticed, but I didn’t think much of it.  When I came back upstairs from bringing Whampy to the basement, Littles was all dressed and ready for bed.  I asked her if she went poop and she said excitedly, “You were mad at Whampy so, I DID ALL THE THINGS!” meaning, did her whole nighttime routine!  Her eyes were totally lit up with pride.  She said, “I went poop!  I brushed my teeth!  I drank my milk!  I put on jammies!”  Now, this NEVER happens.  I know she can do all those things, but she always asks for help.  Tonight she didn’t.  She knew I was frustrated, and she did it all herself.  She knew I was at my limit and she knew helping me would make my night.  It totally did.  I told her how proud I was of her and I told her how big of a girl she was.  She was smiling ear to ear.  She climbed right into bed with zero fuss.  We did our prayers.  We did our hugs and kisses.  I turned out the light and we said goodnight.  As I closed the door, I said, “I love you sweetheart.  Thank you for being such a big girl.”  She replied, “You’re welcome.  I love you too, daddy.”  My angel.

While my wife and I were execting our first child, one of my friends, who already had a kid, gave me the best piece of advice about parenting.  She told me, “Somehow, your kid will know your limit.  Just when you think you’re going to run out into the street screaming, they’ll be totally normal.”  “Totally normal” made us both chuckle.  The description was vague and I knew what she meant,  but I wouldn’t totally understand until I became a parent myself.

There are times when parenting can just be a “pull your hair out” experience.  Tonight, the stupid cat took me to DEFCON 2; but Littles knew my limit.  I don’t know how, but she did.  She knew I was frustrated and she wanted to do everything she could to help.  I couldn’t ask for a more kindhearted little girl.  Sleep tight, princess.