Goodnight At Least a Thousand Times!
by Kathy Warnes
Most nights, George and Oliver start going to bed about 7:30 and bid their last goodnight at 10:30. The three hours in between are filled with varied and fascinating incidents.
To begin the evening, I read two bedtime stories apiece, and after discussing the stories thoroughly, I tuck George and Oliver snugly into their beds. I have my hand on the light switch, when George squeals, “Mommy, I want a drink of water!”
Before I can say anything, Oliver puts in his ten cents worth. “I want a drink too. I only had half a glass of milk for supper ‘cause I spilled the other half and you wouldn’t give me any more, remember? So I’m awful thirsty mom. Can I have a drink too?”
I hold on to my think thread of patience that is about to go snap, crackle, pop.
“All right,” I manage to say somewhat calmly. Each of you may go and get a drink of water, but hurry!”
They scurry to the bathroom and I stand by their beds waiting to hear the splash of water being turned on. Instead I hear a sharp cracking noise that sounds like a slap and a howl of anguish. Both voices yell, “Mom!”
Gritting my teeth, I walk into the bathroom. “What’s going on in here?” The sink is half full of water and floating in it are what looks like tiny green worms.
“What ARE you doing?” I demand. “What are those monsters in my bathroom sink?”
“That’s just toothpaste, Mom,” George assures me. “Oliver said he didn’t brush his teeth before he got in bed so I was helping him.”
“The tooth paste just slipped off my brush, Mom,” Oliver adds.
“All right! I want the sink cleaned, the toothbrush put up and you two back in bed this minute!”
“Mom, are you shouting?” George asks.
“No, I am NOT shouting. I merely raised my voice a little. Now are you going to do as I say or do I have to use the spanking word?”
“We’re coming, Mom.”
Miraculously, the water and tooth paste worms disappear and George and Oliver follow me into the bedroom. I hold the covers on George’s bed commandingly in front of me. “In!” I command.
“Mom!” Oliver says.
“Oliver, just one minute. George, I want you over here in this bed.”
“But Mom,” Oliver persists. “We didn’t say our prayers.”
Defeated, I put down the bed clovers. “All right, we’ll say prayers.”
George and Oliver’s prayers sound amazingly like a letter to Santa Claus. Their requests to God on this particular night are a kitten just like Mittens- Mittens recently left home and didn’t return- and then a grocery list. Thank you for the crunchy peanut butter and please bring us lots more. Please let us have hot chocolate for breakfast and let mom make us pizza for lunch. Then they move into the please bless section of their prayers. “Please bless Mom and Dad and Uncle Harry and Aunt Sally. They run through as many family members as possible including some that I have never heard about. Then George says, “Thank you for the best Mom in the world.”
When I hear this I go so soft inside that I feel like a marshmallow. Very gently I tuck the covers under both their chins. “Goodnight,” I say softly and kiss them both on the forehead.
“Aw Mom, stop the mushy stuff,” George says.
I shut the bedroom door with imaginary doves fluttering around my head. What a way to end a bedtime I sigh as I go slowly down the stairs. Before I reach the bottom of the stairs, I hear a faint howl. Sighing with exasperation this time, I stomp back up the stairs.
“What’s the matter now?” I shout at the head of the stairs.
“Oliver threw his pillow at me and something’s tickling me all over,” George howls again, not in pain, but with laughter.
I turn on the light and sure enough, a shower of feathers covers George’s face. He blows a feather off the end of his nose and laughs non-stop.
Oliver dives under the covers to escape the feathers and the look on my face.
George keeps laughing. He knows my spanking threats are usually just that – threats. The last time I spanked him was when he was three and he ran out the front door, down the drive way, and into the street. “I want you to live to grow up,” I told him through his howls and floods of tears.
Now, tonight, I can’t stay angry, because the calendar limits nights like these. I pull the covers off Oliver and I get George a drink of water to stop the hiccoughs he has developed from laughing.
“Aren’t you mad at us, Mom?” Oliver asks as he snuggles back under the covers and puts his head on the pillow I gave him from my bed.
“No, I’m not mad at you,” I tell him as I take the glass from George and tuck the covers under his chin.
“W-why not?” George hiccoughs.
“Because you will grow up and the nights won’t be as lively,” I tell him.
They did grow up and the nights are a thousand times less lively.
Most nights, George and Oliver start going to bed about 7:30 and bid their last goodnight at 10:30. The three hours in between are filled with varied and fascinating incidents.
To begin the evening, I read two bedtime stories apiece, and after discussing the stories thoroughly, I tuck George and Oliver snugly into their beds. I have my hand on the light switch, when George squeals, “Mommy, I want a drink of water!”
Before I can say anything, Oliver puts in his ten cents worth. “I want a drink too. I only had half a glass of milk for supper ‘cause I spilled the other half and you wouldn’t give me any more, remember? So I’m awful thirsty mom. Can I have a drink too?”
I hold on to my think thread of patience that is about to go snap, crackle, pop.
“All right,” I manage to say somewhat calmly. Each of you may go and get a drink of water, but hurry!”
They scurry to the bathroom and I stand by their beds waiting to hear the splash of water being turned on. Instead I hear a sharp cracking noise that sounds like a slap and a howl of anguish. Both voices yell, “Mom!”
Gritting my teeth, I walk into the bathroom. “What’s going on in here?” The sink is half full of water and floating in it are what looks like tiny green worms.
“What ARE you doing?” I demand. “What are those monsters in my bathroom sink?”
“That’s just toothpaste, Mom,” George assures me. “Oliver said he didn’t brush his teeth before he got in bed so I was helping him.”
“The tooth paste just slipped off my brush, Mom,” Oliver adds.
“All right! I want the sink cleaned, the toothbrush put up and you two back in bed this minute!”
“Mom, are you shouting?” George asks.
“No, I am NOT shouting. I merely raised my voice a little. Now are you going to do as I say or do I have to use the spanking word?”
“We’re coming, Mom.”
Miraculously, the water and tooth paste worms disappear and George and Oliver follow me into the bedroom. I hold the covers on George’s bed commandingly in front of me. “In!” I command.
“Mom!” Oliver says.
“Oliver, just one minute. George, I want you over here in this bed.”
“But Mom,” Oliver persists. “We didn’t say our prayers.”
Defeated, I put down the bed clovers. “All right, we’ll say prayers.”
George and Oliver’s prayers sound amazingly like a letter to Santa Claus. Their requests to God on this particular night are a kitten just like Mittens- Mittens recently left home and didn’t return- and then a grocery list. Thank you for the crunchy peanut butter and please bring us lots more. Please let us have hot chocolate for breakfast and let mom make us pizza for lunch. Then they move into the please bless section of their prayers. “Please bless Mom and Dad and Uncle Harry and Aunt Sally. They run through as many family members as possible including some that I have never heard about. Then George says, “Thank you for the best Mom in the world.”
When I hear this I go so soft inside that I feel like a marshmallow. Very gently I tuck the covers under both their chins. “Goodnight,” I say softly and kiss them both on the forehead.
“Aw Mom, stop the mushy stuff,” George says.
I shut the bedroom door with imaginary doves fluttering around my head. What a way to end a bedtime I sigh as I go slowly down the stairs. Before I reach the bottom of the stairs, I hear a faint howl. Sighing with exasperation this time, I stomp back up the stairs.
“What’s the matter now?” I shout at the head of the stairs.
“Oliver threw his pillow at me and something’s tickling me all over,” George howls again, not in pain, but with laughter.
I turn on the light and sure enough, a shower of feathers covers George’s face. He blows a feather off the end of his nose and laughs non-stop.
Oliver dives under the covers to escape the feathers and the look on my face.
George keeps laughing. He knows my spanking threats are usually just that – threats. The last time I spanked him was when he was three and he ran out the front door, down the drive way, and into the street. “I want you to live to grow up,” I told him through his howls and floods of tears.
Now, tonight, I can’t stay angry, because the calendar limits nights like these. I pull the covers off Oliver and I get George a drink of water to stop the hiccoughs he has developed from laughing.
“Aren’t you mad at us, Mom?” Oliver asks as he snuggles back under the covers and puts his head on the pillow I gave him from my bed.
“No, I’m not mad at you,” I tell him as I take the glass from George and tuck the covers under his chin.
“W-why not?” George hiccoughs.
“Because you will grow up and the nights won’t be as lively,” I tell him.
They did grow up and the nights are a thousand times less lively.