Recently Ava is going through this phase where, after we put her and Charlie to bed, she sneaks back down the stairs to see what ‘mommy and daddy time’ is all about. Maybe she thinks she’s going to stumble in on us making a big heroin deal or having some Eyes Wide Shut party in the living room with the other neighborhood parents. But alas, we’re usually eating dinner off the footrest, my wife in her yoga pants and me in my stained white t-shirt, so I guess we’re built to disappoint.
Nevertheless, it doesn’t deter her from coming down to join us, manipulating my wife and I with one-liners like ‘my tummy isn’t full yet’ or ‘my knees hurt, I can’t walk back up the stairs’. We play into it for a little while, but once she breaks into a sleep-deprived, deliriously loud tomahawk dance around the living room and I can no longer hear the American Idol performances, but rather only see Nicki Minaj feather her extensions back with witch nails — it’s time for Ava to go to bed. Again.
Last night, we cut a pretty exclusive deal. She said she’d only go to sleep if she could wear her new shoes. Normally we’re not big negotiators, nor am I a big fan of anyone donning footwear in bed, but the last few weeks of my life seem to have become a revolving door of ‘pick your battle’ moments. So we green-lit the shoes. If this meant that I could eat a popsicle with a hand in the waistband of my pants in silence, then so be it.
She clicked the heels of her new Seychelles together three times and as much as she wanted to go home, her exhaustion from dancing and deal-making overpowered the magic shoes…and only got her to the top of the steps.
Stay classy, girlfriend. Sleep tight.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Anyone else have trouble keeping their kids in bed?