The Jammy Stand-off

Ella and I had a stand-off tonight, and I'm really not sure who won.  We were in the early part of our bedtime routine (the shower-night version), which I had kicked off by announcing that the timer was started and it was time to pick jammies, get undressed and head to the shower.  The kids were rambunctious and "hiding" under Cal's bed when I announced it, so I reinforced it with an, "I'm only going to say this once -- PICK OUT YOUR JAMMIES."  And then I turned and left.

Cal must've actually obliged my request immediately because Ella was on my heels as I left Cal's room.

With Ella, I find myself constantly assessing our moods and our tolerances for being taken off plan and then balancing the value of the teaching moment with the pain and suffering that awaits me should she not be in the mood to cooperate and learn.

So when she insisted I go with her to her room to pick out her jammies, something I insisted both kids do on their own, I quickly assessed my options: Don't follow her and have to deal with her whining about being either too scared to go to her room or incapable of getting her jammies on her own (or both), which would ultimately cascade into a struggle getting her undressed and borderline torture getting her into the shower and clean.  Follow her and renege on my insistence that she pick out her jammies on her own, teach her that I can be played and take a hit on building up her independence.

So, like my usual spineless self, I followed her to her room.

Once I got there, I felt like I needed to re-establish my role as the parent, aka the boss.  As she was rolling around on her bed, I grabbed a Pull-Up for her and then told her that I'd get the Pull-Up but she needed to pick out her jammies.  And so began the back-and-forth -- aka the standoff:

Me: "Ella, pick your jammies."

Ella <smiling, cocky>: "I can't."

Me: "Yes, you can."

Ella <stern>: "No, I can't.

Me <now holding the bin where we keep her jammies>: "Yes you can, Ella.  Look, just pick the jammies off the top."

Ella <still stern>: "I can't."

Me <recognizing I'm still being played>: "You can't?  You can't just pick your jammies off the top?"

Ella <to the point>: "No."

Me <digging my heels in>: "Yes, you can."

Ella <snottily>: "No, I can't."

Me <setting the bin back on the shelf>: "Okay, well, I'm leaving.  You need to pick your jammies on your own."

And I turned and left.

Ella then picked up the jammy bin and followed me to her bedroom door whining the whole time that she couldn't pick out her jammies and that I needed to do it.  "No, I'm not going to pick your jammies.  Just pick a pair off the top," I insisted.  And then I turned and walked away again, this time making my way to my room.

Ella, still holding the jammy bin, followed me, still whining that same tune -- she couldn't pick out her jammies and I needed to do it.

I didn't.  I wasn't going to.  I found it amazing that Ella didn't see the nonsense of it all.  As if there was any sensible, legitimate reasoning to her not picking out her jammies, I actually wondered how she could carry that full bin of jammies from her room to our room but she couldn't pluck one pair of jammies off the top as I requested.  This bounced around in my head as if it even mattered.

I'm not sure how it would have ended had we stayed on this path.  I imagine I would have gotten her undressed and showered and into the Pull-Up I had grabbed for her and then put her into her bed without reading books and without jammies.  Funny.

Fortunately for everyone, Ella made her way downstairs to get some help from Dan.  This was a new approach for Ella as normally I am her chosen one to satisfy her requests. I don't know how much he had heard of our stand-off, but I later learned from Ella that Daddy did get her jammies for her.  I suppose I'm okay with that.  Afterall, I held my ground, established my role as parent and didn't get them for her.

In the end, maybe we both won and both lost the jammy stand-off.