and now, for a little bit of bitching.

Bedtime. I HAAAAAATE doing bedtime. I hate it so much I almost considered using all caps, italics and bold to get my point across.

Jason has worked 2nd shift or out of town for much of the time since Miss A was born. I really should have the dinner and bedtime routine down to a science by now, but I don't. I still loathe it. I'm tired, the kids are tired, we're all irrational, I have to figure out something to feed them, I have to manage homework and any soccer or Girl Scouts activities, and typically I have a handful (or two hands full) of extra neighborhood kids around for much of the time between 3:30 (when they start knocking on the door asking if Miss A can play -- she doesn't get home until 4) and bedtime.

I could make this easier on myself by making a rule that we don't play with friends during the school week, and by having everyone bathed and in bed by 7:30. And I would love to.

But, I feel like I'm being very selfish when I do that. Miss A is sitting and following rules for 7-8 hours every day. That's a long day, I think. (I'm very much against longer school days and will be yanking my kids right out if the days get much longer than they are now.) I feel like it's important that she run around with her friends during those precious post-school daylight hours, so we end up eating dinner after 6, and then by the time we finish with baths it's after 8. By the time I cajole them all into bed (hate hate hate) it's 9 or after.

And I am So. Done. by 9. I'm beyond Done. My last patience seeps out during dinnertime. Sometimes if there is a lull in requests and fights during bathtime, I'll experience a weak second wind of patience, but it's generally snuffed by the *first* time I herd the children from the upstairs hall and into their rooms.

This is because they are overcome by fatigue when I tell them it's time for bed. It's almost Pavlovian, but less convenient. They fall on the floor and roll around and moan. I shit you not. They begin to cry that they need to be carried. If I agree to carry them (this is rare) they cry when they reach their rooms, saying they need a drink, or medicine, or to go to the bathroom one more time, and demand I carry them on these errands. I've never agreed to, so I don't know what would happen next. If I only had one kid I'm sure I'd do it, but there's no way I am going to get into that level of bullshit with four kids.

Then they ask why I hate them. "Um, this right here is why!!!" I think to myself, while outwardly insisting I do not hate them. They sob, "YOU HATE ME! YOU HATE ME! MOMMY HATES ME!" so I try to sandbag my seeping rage into a very quiet, very tight space inside my head. And I walk around shutting the windows and muttering to myself, "This is ridiculous."

Depending on how fulfilling the window shutting is for me, I either have the patience to go soothe their tired sad feelings into sleepyland (this is rare), or I snot, "I'm done. I love you. Goodnight," and close their bedroom doors and leave.

Sometimes I sneak outside for a cigarette (this is rare). Sometimes they come back downstairs. (Quite common.) Sometimes it takes them until after 10 to fall asleep (common) and it takes me until after 11 to calm down.

They inevitably get up around 7, but sometimes as early as 4. They do not nap. Sometimes I swear about this, or cry out of frustration (rare).

??? (That stands for WTF.)