Night Tears
Honestly, I just don't get it.
A couple of months ago, when both Sherry and Eddy were insisting they weren't tired enough to go to bed, I introduced them to 'vanilla milk,' with the assurance to both that it would help them sleep.
This was something I'd done with my own kids years earlier, and it genuinely seemed to help them get to sleep. It's not difficult nor fancy, about 6 oz of milk, 1 tsp of sugar, and several drops of real vanilla extract; the milk is then warmed in the microwave for about 45 seconds. In any case, the vanilla milk was a success, and both kids began to look forward to it each evening before bed. Since I firmly believe bedtime "rituals" are important, I was happy to oblige.
Two nights ago, both kids were permitted to stay up a bit late and play their favorite video games. Since it was later than usual, we skipped the vanilla milk and went straight to the toothbrushing and bed. In tucking in Sherry, I was surprised to find her big blue eyes full of unshed tears, her bottom lip quivering slightly. "Sherry? What's wrong?"
She wipes her tears on her blanket, takes a deep breath, and assures me nothing is wrong. Uh huh. Meryl Streep, meet Sherry, she'll be succeeding you at the Academy Awards someday. "What's the matter, Sweetie? You're obviously very upset about something." Cue the tears.
In a quavering voice, Sherry tells me, "It's just that ... we didn't get any VANILLA MILK tonight!" and the tears begin falling in earnest.
"Sherry, honey, I love you very much. And if anything serious were wrong I'd sure want to help any way I could. But honestly... I'm finding this silly. So dry your tears. We'll have vanilla milk tomorrow night, okay?" "Okay."
As I close her door I wonder if I'll ever stop disappointing her.
Last night, determined to avoid my clear and obvious fuckup of the night before, I make sure there's plenty of time and a little energy to prepare and present the vanilla milk just before the kids go up to bed. Teeth have been brushed, clothes and toys put away, and the milk-ritual observed with due care. All seems well.
I tuck Eddy in first. "Goodnight, sweetheart. I hope you have a wonderful sleep! I love you."
"Goodnight," he tells me, "luv ya." I kiss his forehead and back out of the room.
Next is Sherry. I stand beside her bed and tell her, "You guys were sure great tonight, thank you!" She won't meet my eyes, but nods in response. Uh oh.
"Sherry?" "hmmm?"
"Sherry, look at me."
She raises her face to meet mine, and once again her blue eyes are welling and full of tears. Her bottom lip quivers, a promise of tears to come. "What's the matter, honey? What is it?"
Her tears begin falling, fulfilling the promise of the quivering lip, and she answers me, her voice so cracked and choked that I can't even understand her.
"Sherry, take a deep breath. Good. Now, look at me and tell me where I can understand you-- what is wrong??"
"It's just that I wanted to ask you something and now it's too late--I'm already in bed and now I KNOW you won't let me and Eddy sleep in the family room tonight!"
Huh? Family room? What the...? Where the hell did THIS come from? The whole "sleep in the family room" saga was an ongoing thing; the kids' bedrooms in their "other house" have televisions with cable (and no supervision). Since we don't allow television in the kids' rooms, here, they occasionally weasel around it by getting permission to sleep on the couches in the family room. The television, of course, stays on all night during these events. Blecch.
As I look at Sherry's bed, her pink satin curtains, the beautiful white lace canopy (MY idea) over her bed, her new dresser and shelves... and MY Monet prints on her sky-blue walls, I feel a bubble of rage and pain begin to form inside me. Was her room not GOOD enough? Did we not spend enough time, money, and effort on it?! Was the absence of an IDIOT BOX so dreadful that it was preferable to sleep on a loveseat just to be near one?! She has the biggest, nicest goddamn bedroom in the HOUSE. Our PRINCESS spends 14 nights a month there, and it's... not GOOD enough? My anger takes hold like a flash and I'm consumed...frustrated... hurt... and just fucking PISSED.
"Sherry," I tell her, in a carefully modulated and controlled voice that she KNOWS means I'm angry, "I will never answer that question again. From now on, you will discuss sleeping in the family room with your Dad, and only your Dad. I do have to wonder, though, what's wrong with your bedroom that you don't want to spend time in here?"
"Nothing's wrong with it," she assures me. "You just don't want to SLEEP in it, is that right?" "Yes. No. I mean-- I DO want to sleep in it." Her tears have stopped and we are now in a different place with this "discussion."
"Sherry, I hope you have a wonderful sleep. Goodnight, and I'll see you in the morning."
"Goodnight."
I close the door as I leave the room, and I wonder... can I keep doing this? It's not good for me, I'm sure of it. And it can't be good for the kids. So why am I bothering? And what really IS the matter here?
No answers materialize and I return downstairs, angry, hurt, and fearful for our futures.
A couple of months ago, when both Sherry and Eddy were insisting they weren't tired enough to go to bed, I introduced them to 'vanilla milk,' with the assurance to both that it would help them sleep.
This was something I'd done with my own kids years earlier, and it genuinely seemed to help them get to sleep. It's not difficult nor fancy, about 6 oz of milk, 1 tsp of sugar, and several drops of real vanilla extract; the milk is then warmed in the microwave for about 45 seconds. In any case, the vanilla milk was a success, and both kids began to look forward to it each evening before bed. Since I firmly believe bedtime "rituals" are important, I was happy to oblige.
Two nights ago, both kids were permitted to stay up a bit late and play their favorite video games. Since it was later than usual, we skipped the vanilla milk and went straight to the toothbrushing and bed. In tucking in Sherry, I was surprised to find her big blue eyes full of unshed tears, her bottom lip quivering slightly. "Sherry? What's wrong?"
She wipes her tears on her blanket, takes a deep breath, and assures me nothing is wrong. Uh huh. Meryl Streep, meet Sherry, she'll be succeeding you at the Academy Awards someday. "What's the matter, Sweetie? You're obviously very upset about something." Cue the tears.
In a quavering voice, Sherry tells me, "It's just that ... we didn't get any VANILLA MILK tonight!" and the tears begin falling in earnest.
"Sherry, honey, I love you very much. And if anything serious were wrong I'd sure want to help any way I could. But honestly... I'm finding this silly. So dry your tears. We'll have vanilla milk tomorrow night, okay?"
As I close her door I wonder if I'll ever stop disappointing her.
Last night, determined to avoid my clear and obvious fuckup of the night before, I make sure there's plenty of time and a little energy to prepare and present the vanilla milk just before the kids go up to bed. Teeth have been brushed, clothes and toys put away, and the milk-ritual observed with due care. All seems well.
I tuck Eddy in first. "Goodnight, sweetheart. I hope you have a wonderful sleep! I love you."
"Goodnight," he tells me, "luv ya." I kiss his forehead and back out of the room.
Next is Sherry. I stand beside her bed and tell her, "You guys were sure great tonight, thank you!" She won't meet my eyes, but nods in response. Uh oh.
"Sherry?"
"Sherry, look at me."
She raises her face to meet mine, and once again her blue eyes are welling and full of tears. Her bottom lip quivers, a promise of tears to come. "What's the matter, honey? What is it?"
Her tears begin falling, fulfilling the promise of the quivering lip, and she answers me, her voice so cracked and choked that I can't even understand her.
"Sherry, take a deep breath. Good. Now, look at me and tell me where I can understand you-- what is wrong??"
"It's just that I wanted to ask you something and now it's too late--I'm already in bed and now I KNOW you won't let me and Eddy sleep in the family room tonight!"
Huh? Family room? What the...? Where the hell did THIS come from? The whole "sleep in the family room" saga was an ongoing thing; the kids' bedrooms in their "other house" have televisions with cable (and no supervision). Since we don't allow television in the kids' rooms, here, they occasionally weasel around it by getting permission to sleep on the couches in the family room. The television, of course, stays on all night during these events. Blecch.
As I look at Sherry's bed, her pink satin curtains, the beautiful white lace canopy (MY idea) over her bed, her new dresser and shelves... and MY Monet prints on her sky-blue walls, I feel a bubble of rage and pain begin to form inside me. Was her room not GOOD enough? Did we not spend enough time, money, and effort on it?! Was the absence of an IDIOT BOX so dreadful that it was preferable to sleep on a loveseat just to be near one?! She has the biggest, nicest goddamn bedroom in the HOUSE. Our PRINCESS spends 14 nights a month there, and it's... not GOOD enough? My anger takes hold like a flash and I'm consumed...frustrated... hurt... and just fucking PISSED.
"Sherry," I tell her, in a carefully modulated and controlled voice that she KNOWS means I'm angry, "I will never answer that question again. From now on, you will discuss sleeping in the family room with your Dad, and only your Dad. I do have to wonder, though, what's wrong with your bedroom that you don't want to spend time in here?"
"Nothing's wrong with it," she assures me. "You just don't want to SLEEP in it, is that right?" "Yes. No. I mean-- I DO want to sleep in it." Her tears have stopped and we are now in a different place with this "discussion."
"Sherry, I hope you have a wonderful sleep. Goodnight, and I'll see you in the morning."
"Goodnight."
I close the door as I leave the room, and I wonder... can I keep doing this? It's not good for me, I'm sure of it. And it can't be good for the kids. So why am I bothering? And what really IS the matter here?
No answers materialize and I return downstairs, angry, hurt, and fearful for our futures.
posted by Aunty Social at 7:16 AM
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