Well Excuse Me

Thank goodness for last night’s season finale of "Glee", which knocked me out of my cranky, brow beaten mood, a gloom that even a glass of Shiraz couldn’t resolve.

The cause of my temporary meloncholy? Bedtimes with Ellie have become knock down drag out exercises in delaying the inevitable. At nearly three she is very set in her ways (I know, so original) and has definite ideas of how things should be done. She’s never been a huge tantrumer but I can see she has the potential for real talent in this area if she decides to put her mind to it.

She has to step into her nightgown, not have it come over her head. She has to get her own Pull-Up from the pantry and that includes opening the door herself, don't even try to open that door. She has to attempt to put the toothpaste on the toothbrush even though every night she ends up handing it over to you and saying Can you help me Mommy? She has to read books before brushing teeth and don't ever dare suggest a different order to the proceedings.

Starting to get the idea?

Monday night we had a stand-off over the fact that she would not come upstairs for bath time when asked to do so repeatedly. The punishment: she missed the beloved bubble bath and believe me, she did not let me forget it. A "Rain Man" worthy monologue ensued for the rest of the bedtime routine. While Leo splashed away with Erin across the hall, Ellie quietly and repeatedly requested a bubble bath. "I want to take a bubble bath. But I wanted to take a bubble bath!" But I stood firm.

Last night’s fury was aroused when I had the audacity to retrieve the wipes from the second bathroom, rather than allowing Ellie to do so. Well I had some nerve, didn’t I?

I know all of this is exacerbated by the simple fact that she’s exhausted. But it’s so hard when I only see her for an average of four hours a day during the week and 1.5 of those hours are spent bargaining and haggling and deal making over something as simple as bedtime. And then I feel guilty for losing my patience with her when I only get four hours a day with her.

Did I mention that she also rarely naps at daycare? Hmm, the might explain why she’s been known to sleep half the day away on the weekend. In short, she’s whipped. Or is it wiped? Whatever.

But in lighter moments, she can say the sweetest things at the end of the night, after said bargaining and haggling and deal making is over and she’s ensconced, finally, in her little pink bed with the Scottie dog sheets and the pastel striped blanket.

“I really love you Mommy. You’re my best big girl.”

Some nights she asks me to blow her a kiss so she can catch it. Oh sure, some nights she also wails at me that she doesn’t want to catch a kiss. One night she actually screamed for me to come back to her room so she could return the kiss that I’d given her.

Don't let the innocent smile fool you.

But last night was different.

“I really, really…” Ellie began, then drifted off. I didn’t catch the last portion of what she’d said.

“What Sweetie? I can’t hear you,” I said, leaning over her, expecting to hear something about how she “really loved me” or how I was “really her favorite mommy.”

Oh no, that wasn’t it.

“I really, really…wanted to get the wipes,” she sniffed.