Speechless

Those that know me would never call me quiet.  Those who know my son, would never call him quiet either.  We're talkers.  We never meet a stranger and we love striking up conversations with people at the grocery store, park, and well, anywhere.  That said, there have only been  a few moments in my life when I have truly been rendered speechless.  When the man I love fell to his knees with a diamond ring I was speechless.  When two pink lines popped up on an EPT (twice) I was speechless.  Now that my son is three years old, I find myself speechless more than I care to admit.  This is perhaps one of my favorite examples.

In his attempt to exert control, my son has turned bedtime into an opportunity to lobby.  Our once smooth routine of bath, brush teeth, books then bed has been replaced by chaos.  The bed covers have to be just right.  "The Reall Pillow Cudd" has to be in position.  This is his much beloved puppy pillow pet with one eye.  Do NOT confuse it with the identical puppy pillow pet purchased when a neighborhood dog dragged the original into a ditch.  (Side note:  Thanks to the amazing Papa for combing the neighborhood in search of Pillow Cudd and rescuing the muddy member of our family!). 

Once we have the real pillow and covers in place we move to the daily dilemma of ceiling fan on or off.  That takes a few minutes to sort out.  Once the speed and light intensity have satisfied his three year old brain we move on to books.  The usual numbe is two.  James, however, prefers tweny-seven.  He'd be content to read until the sun came up.  Now he's figured out that he gets more book time if he waits until I'm half done with a book to change his mind.  This happens a few times before I have to lay down the law and set a limit. 

My favorite part of bedtime is saying prayers.  I love the creativity and passion that comes from this child.  Depending on how long he wants to stall, or how thankful he is, prayers can take a while. We pray for children with no mommies or mean mommies.  We pray for unfortunate giraffes who get their heads stuck in trees.  We pray for elephants stuck in the mud and for God'd protection over all of our household pets.  Now he's added forgiveness to his prayers.  He's asked God to forgive Mommy for yelling, and to forgive him for biting his friend Harry at school.  He's asked God to forgive his Dad for being grumpy and to forgive him for not being kind to his sister.  I hate to rush prayers, but some nights I have to drop an Amen for the sake of sleep.

After prayers we argue for a few minutes on whether or not to shut the bedroom door.  Mommy says closed.  I've always insisted on closed.  Why he feels I might budge on this I'm not sure.  I never do.  He gets points for trying though, my sweet little controlling boy.

Once all of this has been settled with hugs, kisses and good nights.  I close his door and collapse, exhausted into my own bed.  He used to stay in his room.  These days, not so much. He has to go potty about ten times.  He has to come give Mom and Dad a hug.  He'd prefer to climb in my bed and play "Angry Birds" on my cell phone.  We shoo him back to his room.  We re-tuck him in.  We threaten.  Sometimes we yell. 

One particularly rough night he'd been up and down about fifty times.  We were satisfied that he'd been thoroughly tucked, read to, pottied out and prayed over.  It was time for bed, and yet there he stood adorable in his mis-matched jammies begging to stay in our room.  Daddy had to intervene and sternly told him "Son, it's time for bed."  He began to walk back towards his room.  Before he slammed our door, he
turned to us and said, "you are COMPLETELY inadequate!"

Speechless at the hands of a three year old.