The Ritual

“Sweetheart, please go upstairs and put on your pajamas. It’s bedtime,” I yell from the kitchen as I scramble to finish the nightly chores. With my ears perked up waiting for the sound of his feet defiantly stomping up the stairs, I unintentionally do my best Yorkie impression, cocking my head to the side, registering the silence. 

“Now!” I yell with a little more oomph. Still nothing. I throw the dish towel down on the counter and sigh, somehow surprised that what has become our nightly routine is now playing out yet again. 

I round the corner from the kitchen and see my six-year-old still playing Mario Kart completely ignoring my instructions. 

“Tyler Campbell,” using the obligatory middle name to show I’m serious, “turn that off right now and go upstairs.” 

Without missing a beat or a turn in lap three of Bowser’s Castle race, he replies, “I’ve decided I’m going to obey myself today.”

Shaking my head in disbelief of his audacity and secretly smiling with pride at his reasoning and creativity, I respond, “While I appreciate that you want to work on your obedience, that’s not an option. Turn the game off and go upstairs.” 

“I need to finish this race, Mom,” he informs me. “And besides the way, it’s only 8:27 and my bedtime is at 8:30.” While I love the “besides the way” phrase he coined combining “besides” and “anyway” and know that he is technically right, I’m starting to lose my patience. 

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to calmly say, “You may finish this lap since it is the last one, but then game off, go put on your pajamas and go into the bathroom so we can brush your teeth.”

Silence.

“Tyler!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathes.

Satisfied, I go into the kitchen to dry my last two dishes. While drying, I remember that I need to switch the clothes from the washer to the dryer, so I hurry over to the laundry room to knock it out quickly. Of course, I forgot that it was a load of delicates of which half are air-dried, so I set up the drying rack, and see that I don’t have any hangers. I run past my son who has started a second race instead of obeying me, fly up the stairs to grab some hangers out of my bedroom, run back downstairs, half-heartedly threaten to throw the game in the trash if he’s started a new race as I breeze past, and go back into the laundry room. Pulling the clothes out of the washer, I realize that the three hours they have been motionless in the washer have sealed in the wrinkles to the extreme. I mentally scream at the thought of my future ironing job while sorting through the wash and glancing at my watch to see that it is now 8:36. I finish up a minute later, walk back into the living room, where Tyler is in full screen zombie mode while maneuvering Toad around Rainbow Road.

“Tyler Campbell is that a new race?” I question using my full-blown mom voice. I am mentally daring him to deny it because I know that he knows that I know it’s a new race. The Battle of Wits is in full swing.

He turns his head towards me, flashes a killer smile with his dimples on full display, and giggles. His smile is my kryptonite and the pure joy of loving my kid temporarily weakens my resolve…and he knows it. Tyler – 1, Mom – 0.

“Turn it off right now!” I turn on my heel and march up the stairs into his room, praying tonight will be different and he will listen to me and give me a night off from the land of defiance. I turn on his light to see last night’s pajamas crumpled on the floor, which I told him twice to put in the dirty clothes. Grumbling as I pick them up, I shake my head knowing he will never learn if I do everything for him. I have found that a significant part of motherhood has been the never-ending battle between my OCD and his need to learn responsibility. It’s at this point that my husband walks by, sees me, and comments that he will never learn if I do everything for him. “I realize that,” I respond, half defeated, “but I’m too tired to fight tonight.” He huffs. “You say that every night.”. I stare at him blankly for a second, wondering how he can’t understand that throwing fuel on the fire doesn’t serve any purpose except driving me insane and lift my hands in total defeat. “It’s true every night.” I decide to take advantage of his locale, whether he’s busy or not. “He’s supposed to have turned that game off and be in his pajamas by now, will you please help me?”

“Tyler!” he projects, walking down the stairs. “Listen to your mother and turn that game off now!” Then I hear him walk out of the living room and head toward the man cave. I look down at my watch. 8:43

My dog ears hear grumbling and the creaking of the recliner, so I rejoice that the screen spell has been broken and there’s a slight chance he will be in bed before 9pm. I get back to straightening his room and realize I only hear silence now. I throw back my head and growl. 

“Tyler! Come up here now!”

Silence.

“Tyler!”

Silence.

“TYLER!” I stomp over to the railing and look down into the living room, which is empty. I race down the stairs, fueled by a fury only parents can understand and race past the living room into the kitchen where I find him calmly eating a blueberry muffin and drinking some water. 

“What are you doing?” I implore. “It’s bedtime. Why are you eating?” Realizing I answered my own question and this was the beginning of my nightly mental breakdown, I just stared at him. Tyler looks at me like I’m daft and says, “I’m hungry and thirsty.” Popping the last bite in his mouth, he chews it, takes a drink of water, and saunters past me without a care in the world. I follow him, taking deep breaths and trying to focus on our eventual reading ritual for the evening when I can snuggle my sweet boy and bask in our love of books.  Tyler enters his room and starts undressing, which gives me a glimmer of hope that the evening will get back on track…until he starts his naked dance in front of his mirrored closet doors. Half-wishing I could hear the music in his head inspiring his thrashing interpretive dance vogue moves and half-wishing I could walk out the door and he would magically put himself to bed, I shake my head and tell him yet again to put on his pajamas. Thirty seconds later, the song must have ended because he opens his drawer, picks out his shark pajamas, and starts putting them on. I take a moment to glance at my watch while registering the clothes thrown on the floor instead of into the hamper two feet away. 8:51

“Ok, sweetheart, let’s brush your teeth,” I gesture towards the bathroom. We walk in, get his toothbrush ready, and I sit on the toilet lid so I am level with him. His obsession with making the silliest faces possible any time he encounters a mirror is in play again and I sit silently, just staring at his reflection. It’s at this point in the evening that my silent glares have more impact than my words, so he soon realizes that I am holding onto my temper with the tips of my fingers and he calms down so I can brush his teeth. 

Walking out of the bathroom, Tyler starts down the stairs and I stop him. “What are you doing? Go to your room.”

“I haven’t said goodnight to Daddy yet,” he replies and continues walking. He disappears and I shuffle into his room, lie down on his bed, and massage my temples. I space out for a few minutes, thinking of everything else I really should do tonight, but knowing I’m going to try and squeeze in a couple of chapters out of my overdue library book instead. I look at my watch. 9:02

“TYLER!” I scream, jolting upright, going from zero to angry in one second flat. “GET BACK HERE NOW!” I hear the pitter-patter of feet running through the kitchen and living room and back up the stairs. 

Entering the room with a huge smile on his face, like he’s having the time of his life, he innocently asks, “Do I get my three books tonight, Mommy?” Giving in because we’re finally beginning my favorite part of the day, I say. “Yes, but only short ones tonight.” 

He picks three sweet books that used to be his favorites, crawls next to me in bed, and gives me a hug. “Remember these, Mommy? We used to read them all of the time,” he says in his sweet little boy voice that I hope never goes away. “Yes, Baby, I remember these,” I say returning his smile. We snuggle and read the books and my chaotic jumbled mind calms and my priorities fall back into place. My son is happy and healthy, we have full tummies, warm beds, and enough love to go around. 

I turn out the light, give Tyler a hug and kiss, and remind him to say his prayers.

“Mommy?” his sweet voice says in the darkness.

“Yes, my love?”

“Will you stay in here until I fall asleep?”

“Ok, but you have to go to sleep. No talking.”

“Ok,” he agrees. 

I sit back in the rocking chair in the corner and glance at my watch. 9:29 

I close my eyes and the next thing I know, I’m waking up disoriented with a crick in my neck. I glance at my watch. 1:17 

Slowly standing up, I make my way across the room, whisper “I love you” and sneak out the door. Walking down the dark hall towards my bedroom, I try to stretch my neck, lose my balance and stumble, slamming into the wall. I pause, make sure I didn’t wake anyone, and enter my bedroom. The glow of my husband’s iPhone is illuminating his face as he asks, “Why do you keep falling asleep in there?” Internally I scream at the top of my lungs, “BECAUSE I’M EXHAUSTED!”, but outwardly I whisper, “I don’t do it on purpose.” 

I crawl into bed, double-check that my alarm is set for an hour before anyone else gets up, so I can get everything done before school and work, and I fall back asleep.