Too Good to Be True

We've been working on bedtime lately. That's kind of misleading. The truth is, we're ALWAYS working on bedtime. Getting the kids to go to bed without a thousand curtain calls and before 10pm is basically my life's work.

But lately, we've been making an extra big effort, really trying to hammer down some sort of order into the chaos because there's going to be a baby in the house soon - a real one, with REAL, justifiable sleep issues and right now, the thought of introducing more insanity into our bedtime strikes a chord of terror into my heart.

So, after OD'ing on research (polling ParkSlopeParents for advice, re-skimming my sleep books, visiting Soho Parenting, the sleep gurus of NYC) I basically realized there's no simple solution, more a war of attrition. But the Soho Parenting people did make one very useful suggestion, which was that we start the whole bedtime earlier. 8pm is a perfectly nice bedtime if your kids go to sleep, oh within an half hour or so of hitting the hay, but when it takes them 2 stinking hours to "wind down", well, 8pm might as well be the stroke of midnight.

So we pushed bedtime back about 30-60 minutes and now - miracle of miracles - the kids are usually conked out by 9:30pm. Believe it or not, that's a major improvement for us. That's reason for a ticker tape parade. Sec especially has responded well to the early bedtime, sometimes falling asleep by 9pm, which makes us feel so extraordinarily fortunate, we don't even SPEAK of it when it happens.

One night, the unthinkable happened. At 8:45, I went into the kids' bedroom to fulfill some demand of Primo's -- more milk or I need a new pen to create my comic book masterpiece or I finished this book can I have another one? -- and I saw Sec was asleep. I told Primo I'd come back in 15 minutes to turn off his book light and sing him some songs, thinking maybe I could have them BOTH asleep by a conventional bedtime.

At 9pm, I creeped into the bedroom, and climbed the first few steps of the ladder to Primo's top bunk. But I stopped short. Because my son was sleeping. SLEEPING.

"Good God," I thought, "he's fallen asleep reading his book, like a kid in a freaking MOVIE. I guess that shit really DOES happen. "

I immediately sucked my whispering back into my throat and creeped like a pregnant ninja down the ladder, slipping out of the room without a sound.

"David," I said, "You are not going to believe what I'm about to say. Primo is asleep."

"Its 9pm," he replied, confused.

"I know," I said.

We exchanged proud glances, not even daring to jinx our good fortune by speaking out loud what we were thinking, and that was, "Its working. Our massive effort is paying off. We are good parents and this is the proof. By God, we've done it."

And then, the door to the kids' room swung open and Primo darted out laughing his head off meniacally.

"I tricked you Mommy!!!" he chortled, "You thought i was asleep! But I was only pretending!"

Which made a lot more sense.

Strong Mouth

My daughter is terrifically talented at a great many things but the kid can't fall asleep for shit. I don't know how to break the process down any more clearly for her, more than to say there are two steps:

A. Lie still
B. Be quiet

I repeat this continually all night long, from about 8pm til about 10. Lie still. Be quiet. Lie still., Be quiet.

Last night, after Primo conked out by 9:30, Sec was singing a remix of "Kiss the Girl" at Hollywood-Bowl decibel-levels.

SHA LA LA LA LA LA, MY OH MY
LOOK LIKE THE BOY TOO SHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

I walked in for the four hundredth time that night.

"Seconda, you need to go to sleep now. Lie still and be quiet."

"I want to but the thing is, my mouth isn't strong enough."

Somehow, I don't think that's the problem.

Bedtime Brainstorm

Have I told you my new genius idea for getting a handle on bedtime?

Walkie Talkies.

Here’s the deal: Primo is having more than his usual share of bedtime fears which has resulted in him shouting, “MOMMY! ARE WITCHES REAL? WILL MY TONGUE FALL OUT? DO I HAVE A SPLINTER? CAN ALIENS EAT PEOPLE?” Each time there is a burning, terrifying question of this ilk, I am called into the room to deliver an answer, The answer is always “No” but I can’t just give him a blanket “No” to use in response to every question he’ll come up with in the next half hour. I tried.

It’s taxing, especially because every time I go in to address one of Primo’s fears, it affords Sec the opportunity to ask for something or remember that something is terribly wrong with her set-up. So I decided to minimize the number of curtain calls, I would get us a pair of high-quality refurbished walkie-talkies so that if Primo has a question, he can ask me that way. And I don’t have to get off the sofa. Because after 7pm, every single thing I do revolves around not getting off the sofa.

It has worked out decently so far. Except for this part.

Our apartment is so small that I don’t need the walkie talkie to hear my son talking. So when he pages me and asks, “IS THE END OF THE WORLD REAL?” I hear not just the walkie talkie but his regular voice asking the question in stereo sound. And I wonder why in lieu of walkie talkies, I didn’t think of just yelling “No” repeatedly through the wall. Guess I’m just too civilized.

Am I the first person in the history to have thought of this idea or are you in on the genius? Any other brilliant strategies I can use when the novelty of this wears out, in approximately 36 hours? Maybe Morse Code? Telepathy?

Killing Off Fairies Ain't As Easy As It Looks

My daughter’s love affair with the pacifier is a story much too long to be unraveled here. Plus, it will be appearing in an article in Parents soon and so I can’t give it all up for free, folks. But what I’m gonna give you is the ending that couldn’t make it into the piece because life hadn’t written it yet.

While I wrote the piece, which was part essay, part reported article, Seconda was a total paci fiend, no holds barred. But in talking to other moms about their binky battles, I began to think maybe I should take action sooner rather than later to boot binky. I mean, I’ve been Binky’s biggest fan, don’t get me wrong. Not with Primo, who never used one, since I was naïve and thought I could prevent him from developing dependencies (Ha!). But since Sec’s arrival, the paci has been a member of our family. We all brake for Paci. Literally. If we start driving somewhere and realize we don’t have a paci, we will stop the car as soon as possible to get one, quick.

By the time I finished the essay, I’d limited Seconda’s paci use to just bedtime, naptime and cartime. That’s a lot less time than you think because we hardly ever use the car and are almost exclusively stroller people. So the gradual weaning had begun.

And thanks to the any parents I spoke with for the article I had garnered a very long list of possible way to terminate paci, permanently.

50 Ways to Leave Your Paci

Cut a hole in it so it’s “broken”

Have your child toss his whole collection in the trash

Tie it to a binky tree in Holland

Send it to Mickey Mouse

Send it to the heavens on the string of a helium balloon

And the popular favorite –

Let the Paci Fairy take care of it

This was clearly the route we’d take. Our family is kind of nuts for fairies. OK, maybe it’s just me. I love fairies . . . and gnomes and elves and all manner of magical, fantastical, generally good but sometime mischievous sprites, Midsummer is my favorite Shakespearean comedy, for God’s Sake. It started as my love for fairies but it developed into our family’s reliance on fairies for our parenting.

Fairies, you see, do our dirtywork.

It all started with the Sleep Fairy, when Primo was about 20 months old and wouldn’t fall asleep even if we rocked him, gave him the bottle, lay beside him, held his hand, or bribed him with large sums of cash. I was in my second trimester with Sec and posted a desperate plea for advice on parkslopeparents and they delivered, as they usually do, with a diverse panorama of suggestions. Someone suggested inventing a Sleep Fairy who visited if the little boy went to bed without crying or calling his mommy back, etc. This fairy would leave a little treat by his door and when he woke (after 7am!!!!! Or no go) he could see what she’d brought him.

We though this was a genius idea. Better than sticker charts because he was too young to understand anything that took several days to pay off. But better, too, then just Mommy giving him a treat if he did well, because, well, you can always argue with Mommy and say, “I DIDN’T CALL YOU BACK! YOU”RE WRONG! GIMME MY TREAT!” But you can’t argue with the Sleep Fairy, now can you, because you can’t ever track her down. She is like an imaginary impartial third party, Perfect! Genius!

So I told Primo, not yet two years old, that I’d read in the newspaper that this famous Sleep Fairy, whose name no one knew, was coming back to NY soon and visiting the homes of all children who went to bed without a fuss. He went to sleep like a dream and the next morning he had a Halloween sugar cookie waiting by his door. The morning after that, it was a little spiral drinking straw. Sheet of stickers, plastic finger puppet. Basically anything that could be purchased for $.50 or less or occasionally a little tasty treat.

The method worked like magic for a few weeks. But it wasn’t as easy as it sounds. I wanted the Sleep Fairy to seem real so I left little notes with the treats, written in curly, swirly letters, which said, “Great job!” and “You’re a wonder to behold!” and “Of all the children, I visit, you are my favorite!” When he got somewhat bored of the treats I threaded in a bit of intrigue to keep him hooked.

“I wonder what the Sleep Fairy’s name is? The newspaper says no one knows.” I told him.

And the next morning, he found a note which revealed her first initial, “M.”

That turned into a big guessing game and night after night, she’d reveal another letter until he discovered her secret name ….. MELINDA!!!!!

The problem is, once you have a fairy for bedtime, you need one for naptime too, or WTF? What’s up with the understaffed afternoon hours in fairy-land? Primo wanted to know? And then once you get a Nap Fairy and reveal her name, slowly, letter by letter (ALINDA!!), the novelty of it all wears thin and Primo starts wondering if she can bring a Sesame Street-themed pencil, why can’t she bring a stuffed Elmo? Which is what he really wants.

The Sleep Fairy becomes permanent. And Santa Claus. And every day is Christmas.

And you explain, with rising frustration, that Melinda is a very small, tiny little creature with wings no thicker than a blade of grass, and how could she possible heave something as large as a stuffed Elmo all the way through the night sky to his door?

“She’s magic.” he replies.

And that’s when it dawns on you that you’ve made a terrible mistake and that this fairy must be killed off. Stat.

But how? These things must be done delicately . . . .

I started to send little hints in her notes which said, “I think I will have to leave you soon. My Mommy and Daddy are moving to Florida.” And “I will miss you very much when I take the plane to Florida on Friday, never to return,” and then finally, “This is my last note. I am at the airport. I have loved you more than all the rest. You are a very good and special boy and you will do great things. Happy sleeping!”

He was disappointed but he got over it. And our house was free of fairies until the great Poop Withholding of 07, when the Potty Fairy was born. Yeah, you heard me right.