Saturday, September 5, 2015



Well what can you say about it.  Worst time of day.  Anxiety galore.  Fuck bedtime.  I feel it as I make my drive home from work.  The work day is done, but the inevitability of the nightly battle of wills that is bedtime keeps the body on edge like a hobo who's just finished his last pint of Night Train.  Bedtime starts innocent enough.  Dinner has been cleaned up.  The marinara tinged bath water has been splashed all over Daddy's shorts and everyone is in their favorite PJ's.  Round one starts with putting the twins in their cribs with a bottle of milk, a small toy, and as many pacifiers as we can scrounge.  For the first ten minutes all the wife and I can hear is the ticking of the clock and the sound machine playing ocean sounds in their room. Tick Tick Tick.  Then the small sounds of bottles hitting the sides of cribs.  Now this is where success can be won or the shit can hit the fan and in this house it's usually the latter.  First H sounds the alarm by saying "Uh Ohh" over and over then O starts up by throwing everything out of his crib which only incites further "Uh Ohhs" from H.  Then the crying and screaming starts.  At this point you have two choices.  You can let the situation play out which usually results in someone vomiting all over themselves, the crib, and the carpet or you can let them out.  Round two......see round one.  Now that we are getting into round three, the anxiety level has gone up, diapers have been changed, and milk has been replenished.  Now parents of singletons at this point would just rock the kid to sleep or let them fall asleep with them on the couch with his or her's favorite stuffed animal.  Fuck that!  I throw those little savages in the black murdered out mini van and start rollin.  I'm sure a lot of you have songs that help your little nose pickers go to sleep like classical music, Paul Simon, or whatever the latest lullaby album on the market is.  I play 90's rap.  That's right Snoop Dog and Dre put my kids to sleep.  Now this ride could take twenty minutes or it could take 45, but the whole time 50 Cent is talking about how I can find him in the club with a bottle of Bub, whatever that means.  By the time my little animals have become sleeping beauties I feel a little tougher from all the Gangster Rap I've been exposed to.  I usually text the wife something like "Put the bottles in the crib you badass bitch, I'm rolling with two shorties ready to go" which usually results in confusion on her part because she hasn't been deluded with nonsense for the past hour.  When I get home with them, it's a delicate matter.  Getting them from the van to their bedroom without waking them is like robbing a candy store, if you get away with it it's sweet but if you get caught and they wake up they shit themselves and the night just got longer.  

I'm not saying every single night is like this but I will tell you about 3 or more nights a week does result in a ride down a country road or two.  I'm sure there are better ways to put twins to bed but what do I know, I'm just a BadTwinDad.

No comments:

Post a Comment