Twenty Things We've Tried to Make Ella's Bedtime Better

My dad once told me that when he doesn’t see a blog post from me for a while he worries.  We never got into exactly what “a while” was nor did he let on how much he worries.  I really didn’t give us much of a chance to get into those details – without skipping a beat, I responded, “You should be worried.”

I was only half joking.  A couple of weeks without a blog post generally means that I can’t see past the misbehavior and sad choices the Leatherkids may be throwing at us and my feelings of parental failure as a result.  It means I can’t see the funny, sweet, share-worthy things they may have done or said.  Or I’m too tired to write about them.  My not writing in August is mostly attributable to our bedtime battles with Ella.  This is not to suggest that said bedtime battles have been isolated to the month of August.  Oh, no.  We’ve been dealing with them for months now, maybe even a year.  And after months of many different, home-grown and failed remediation attempts, I am leaving August tired, frustrated beyond comprehension by anyone other than Dan, cold, angry and out of ideas to make it better… except to call for help.

That we’ve come to the point of needing help from a third party is not for lack of trying.  Here are twenty things we’ve tried, a nice mix of both positive and negative reinforcement, with NO RESULTS other than an occasional reprieve for a night or two here and there:

Positive

1.   Play the Frozen soundtrack during bedtime (still used today)

2.   Reward chart – a sticker for going to bed quietly and a sticker for staying in bed all night; each sticker = cash (no longer used – she didn’t care)

3.   A new book after two – JUST TWO -- nights in a row of a good bedtime (she loves books but was never rewarded with one)

4.   Sleep in the foam Mickey chair that converts to a bed (this actually worked well… for a week. I don’t remember exactly what brought it to an end, but the Mickey chair is still sitting in our bedroom, unusable by Ella.  It was getting pretty flat anyway.)

5.   Sleep in the pink Dora toddler bed given to us by our neighbors (this was short-lived – the kids were more interested in jumping on it than Ella was interested in sleeping in it)

6.   Get to eat “a bar” (nutrition bar) in the morning (still used today, I don’t know why)

7.   Put (expensive) Lavender, Peace and Calming and Valor Essential oils – on her feet and on her bed (while Ella enjoyed the special treatment, the peace and calming they were to bring never really arrived)

8.   See Cal get rewards (books) for good bedtime behavior (Cal would ask, “what’s this for?” and we’d tell him it was for being good at bedtime)

9.   Get a big-girl bed if she has a good bedtime for several (unspecified, but she doesn’t really count) nights in a row (at the rate we’re going, she’ll grow out of her current bed first)

10. If she HAD a big-girl bed, Mommy will lie with her as she goes to bed (not possible because #9 hasn't been achieved, though I did lie with her on the floor recently - I committed a half hour to her only to catch resistance when I told her it was time to climb into bed)

11. Read books in bed if pleasant before climbing into bed (she did this once and I told her on other occasions she could do it, not because I thought she deserved it but because I thought it might help calm her down)

Negative

12. Have music (Frozen soundtrack) taken away for the night (still used today)

13. Have baby blankets taken away from her, leaving her with a blanket that actually covers her with wriggle room (these contribute to the struggle anyway because they don’t fit her anymore yet she expects them to lay perfectly over her whole body; I never take her treasured “blue blankie,” though – this is surely going to go with her to college)

14. Have adored dresses and skorts taken away as options to wear the next day, leaving her to choose among her limited selection of rarely worn shorts (I thought this might work but has really only resulted in a next-morning fight about getting dressed; we’re still sticking to this today)

15. Have “Family Fun Friday” taken away from her; see Cal go to movies with Mommy while she stays home with Daddy (did this once – she was upset, but not upset enough)

16. Get yelled at by Mommy or Daddy (used way too often despite every attempt by Mommy and Daddy not to use it)

17. Be “locked” in bedroom with belts stretched from her bedroom door handle to the closet door (rarely used, really just because we were out of options and needed a reprieve – her noise was muffled by the closed door and eventually she’d just fall asleep)

18. Be “locked” in bedroom with Mommy sitting in folding chair on other side of door either holding it or peeking in and reminding her what she needed to do for the door to stay open (used a few times but always lasted too long to be considered effective – with my laptop in my lap, I was productive, either working or blogging)

19. Be told she can’t go on trip to the beach with cousins the next day, which had been planned for weeks (turns out it rained that day, and we ended up going to a trampoline place… with Ella)

20. Be ignored (this is typically used when she ends up on the landing of our stairs, which isn’t so bad if she stays quiet because she does eventually fall asleep.  The problem is, she doesn’t always stay quiet.  I once used the “ignore her” tactic as I lay next to Cal in his bed, and she joined us uninvited and proceeded to sit on me and poke me)

I’m sure we’ve tried more things.  And in between the threats and encouragement was the constant weighing of what giving in to her wishes… scratch that, demands might teach her vs. the sure fight that would follow not giving in to her demands.  Put blankets on in right order.  Re-put blankets on after she got out of bed once... twice... three times.  "I'm thirsty."  Turn on closet light.  “I have one more thing to tell you.”  Turn on the blue stars (turtle that projects stars on the ceiling).  “Start my music over… PLEASE.”  And my personal favorite, “I LOVE YOU, MOMMY!” repeated loudly until I reappear at her door for her to see me hear it (or see it if we’re doing sign language).

Last Monday while I sat outside her door on my folding chair, I told Ella that I’d be calling her doctor and her teacher to talk about her bad bedtime behavior.  It didn’t necessarily elicit the response I thought I might get out of her, specifically, “NO, DON’T CALL THE DOCTOR OR MY TEACHER” as she climbed back into bed quietly, without a peep the rest of the night.  Instead of taking it as me threatening to tell on her, it was like she was joining my team, as if to say, “yeah, I don’t know what to do with me, either.  Let’s call the doctor.”

The next day, I finally did it.  I called and made an appointment with our doctor for this coming Tuesday.  I wish she could actually witness the spectacle of Ella's bedtime because I don't think my describing it gives it justice.  Really, I hope after that we walk away from that appointment with a #21 on the list of things we've tried and for that to be the end of it.  PLEASE.

Cal Wore His New Backpack Today

It was my turn to put Cal to bed last night.  It wasn’t easy getting the kids to focus on getting up the stairs, showered and jammied with their teeth brushed; and Cal came close to losing his pre-bedtime book privileges a few times.  I’m really not sure how he managed to keep them – it probably had something to do with my being a softie for that kid.

He selected his “Big Cats” book, which I love to read to him.  It’s full of interesting facts about, yes, cats.  The cheetah can go from 0 to 70 mph in 3 seconds, faster than any sports car can do.  The panther is really a black leopard.  Female lions do most of the hunting for food.  The tiger is the largest cat.  There is actually a cat species who likes water.  And so on.

Before I read it to him, I decided to take advantage of him lying calmly next to me and ready to listen to my words and give him a few things to think about relative to his and Ella’s behavior of late in our house.  I told him directly that it has to get better.  I told him every response to mine and Dan’s questions or requests just cannot be a defiant “NO!” or blatant ignorance.  I told him that when he does that, he is disrespecting us, his parents.  And I told him that he’s also teaching Ella to do the same, that she’s learning it from him.  I acknowledged that he’s a kid and that’s what kids do; but not all the time.  He seemed to be listening.

After laying those thoughts on him and still feeling like I had his attention, I took a breath and switched gears.  I’m sure the books would say I delivered mixed messages, but his first day of public school kindergarten was only a couple of days away; and I wanted to be sure that he knew how exciting it is that he’s going to a new school and on the verge of learning and experiencing many new things and meeting many new people.  And I topped it off with a “you’re gonna nail it, Cal.”  He will.

A few days ago, we went to Kohl’s and bought a new backpack for him for the school year.  “I want one just like yours,” he had told me many times since we first mentioned getting a new one a month or so ago.  This was music to my ears – I wouldn’t have to cave and reluctantly say “yes” to yet another cheap, character backpack and then be reminded of it every time I zippered it throughout the year.  We bought a nice, multi-pocketed backpack – Cal’s choice – that even I would use.

I would call this backpack the manifestation of Cal’s excitement over going to public school.  If it weren’t for the backpack, we wouldn’t be able to gauge whether he was excited or not.  He’s just not talking about it much otherwise unless we bring it up; and even then his participation in the discussion is just enough to appease us.

The sound of a door closing finally got me out of bed this morning.  I had already snoozed via my alarm clock several times, so I was due to get up anyway.  I peeked out into the hallway to see Cal’s bedroom door closed.  He was awake.  I climbed into the shower and then went about my morning routine without a peep from or a showing of the kid.  Finally ready to head downstairs and make my way out the door, I noticed that Cal’s door was open and his bedroom light on; but he wasn’t in his room.  I turned off his light and started to walk downstairs.

When I made the turn halfway down the stairs, I saw Cal standing quietly at the base of them.  He had on a t-shirt and mesh shorts, his signature outfit.  His black socks were stretched half way up his legs, which is as far as they could possibly go; and his feet were nestled comfortably in his camouflage green Crocs.  And on his back was his new backpack.

My heart melted with the sight of him.

“Can I use my new backpack today, Mommy?” he asked.  “I’m wearing my new Lego shirt,” he continued, pointing to his t-shirt.  “I wanted to wear this to Colin’s birthday party yesterday because he likes Star Wars Legos, but I didn’t.”  And then he rattled off a few more comments as I put my hands on either side of his face, drew it close to mine and gave him a big kiss on his forehead.

“Yes! You can use your backpack today, Baby Bear,” I told him.  “Do you want me to take you to school now?” I asked.  He did.  It was a work-from-home day for Dan, so the plan was really for Dan to take the kids to school (daycare); but the kid was ready, and I didn’t want to make him wait.  I’d catch a later train, which would be my usual train in anyway.

Ella got wind that I was leaving with Cal and expressed how sad she was about this through and tears and sad words delivered through a pout with a bottom lip almost hitting the floor. Dan couldn't get her dressed fast enough; and the next thing I knew, I was taking both kids to school on his work-from-home day.  Somehow, I enjoyed every minute of it.  I think it was the image of Cal proudly marching around with that backpack strapped to his back, his tell that he really is excited to be finally going to public school kindergarten.

The Leatherkids' Tunnels

It was a rough day with the Leatherkids today.  I spent the better half of the day on Cal's case to either stop hitting, kicking, pinching, poking, pushing, squeezing or spitting on his sister or to just listen to me and acknowledge me. The one time the poor kid actually was pleasant and listening to me, I was on his case because he wasn't riding  his bike fast enough and was being too safe as I tried to get a decent 3-mile run in with the kids.  (We made it two blocks before I changed my mind about running pushing Ella in the BOB while Cal rode his bike alongside me and turned us back toward home.)

And I'm sure Ella was her normal bossy and entitled self in between it all.  I don't remember exactly -- the days are all starting to blend together.

As I sat watching Cal take his last couple of bites of his pizza bread (our dinner, made by the kids) tonight, I realized I was just mentally exhausted due to my dealings with the Leatherkids.  Instead of reminding him once again to chew with his mouth closed, I decided to admit something to him... loudly... above the sounds of him chewing with his mouth open.

"Being a Mommy his SO HARD, Cal," I told him.

"Why?" he asked.

Hmm... how do I put this softly?  "Cal, I adore you and Ella, but you guys drive me bonkers.  What's the secret to getting through to you?" I asked him.

Cal's response to my question was classic... and very mature... and funny... and downright troubling.  With a devious smirk on his face he answered, "Only we know."

We could have left it at that, but my laughter just added fuel to his fire.  He proceeded to tell me that there's a tunnel inside him that he also put in Ella that only they can go into.  As soon as they're inside this tunnel, the doors close so Dan and I can't get in.  He even stood up and explained that the opening to the tunnel was as wide as from the bathroom door to the kitchen (for sure - a tunnel that big would not be inside you, Cal).

I stuck with him as he described this secret tunnel for a few minutes.  When he finally took a breath, I dug for some information that might actually be helpful to me, "So, when do you go into the tunnel, Cal?"

"During bad times," he said.

Just then Dan and Ella came back inside (they had been outside talking with the neighbors this whole time), so that's as far as I got.  I had hoped to hear something like, "when you yell at me" or "when you tell me no" or something constructive like that.

Eventually, we made our way upstairs where the Leatherkids ran from room to room ignoring my requests (demands?) that they get their jammies and undies and head to our bathroom to take a shower.  I eventually took their pre-bed book time away from them and took Ella's trip to the beach tomorrow away from her.  I think they both may be in their tunnels now, fast asleep, Cal physically in his bed and Ella on the landing of our stairs.

Ella and I Gave Running Together Another Shot

Ella either has a not-so-good memory or is a glutton for punishment.  Me, I’m just the latter.  Maybe it’s neither.  Maybe we are both glass-is-half-full thinkers, fully believing that this time things will be different.

When Ella asked if she could go for a run with me yesterday, I cringed.  Not that I knew how, but I had fully expected... hoped... to make it out of the house without her noticing that a) I was leaving without her and b) I was leaving in my running clothes without her.

“I’ll run when you tell me to,” she started to plead her case, her beautiful blue eyes peering directly into mine.  I had to let her come with me.

“Okay, Ella, but you’re not going to run at all.  You’re going to sit in the stroller while I run,” I set expectations.  She was referring to the time that, after having run my three miles with her pleading and whining to run alongside me the whole time, I got her out of the stroller to finish the ½-mile run back to our house… and she proceeded to stand still… and I started running… and she cried… and I ran a whole block while she stood still… and I ran back that same block and got her, strapped her into the stroller and ran the rest of the way home with her crying even louder the whole way.  Flames were coming out of my temples and unfortunately not my feet –- it was the longest half mile I’ve run since the finish of my first marathon.  But this isn’t about that.

“Okay, can I have a bar?” she asked, accepting my terms, to which I responded that she could.  This is our bit –- while I run, she eats a nutrition bar.  Not that I was thrilled about this –- she was surely going to pick one with chocolate chips, which I knew might be a messy problem in the heat.  But it would keep the peace, at least during the first part of our run.

We each filled a water bottle and headed out to the garage where the stroller -- the BOB -- was waiting for us in its folded-up state.  I’m sure it was wondering when it might be used next, if ever again.  If I had a nickel for every time I uttered the phrase “this is the last time I’m taking you running with me” to Ella within earshot of the BOB… I pulled the stroller out, gave the tires a squeeze and decided they could use some air.  As I filled them up, Ella waited patiently.  This was a good sign.  I’ve found that the longer the window between deciding to do something and actually doing it, the more likely the child is going to get antsy, cranky or belligerent.  She was none of those despite the delay.

Once the stroller was ready to go, I strapped Ella in, unwrapped her bar for her, did a couple of useless stretches and started running.

I have a couple of 3-mile routes near my house that I do pretty regularly, and this one involved the nearby prairie path -– one mile to get to the path, a mile on it and then a mile to get home from there with Ella talking every bit of the way.  During the first mile, we crossed paths with a couple out for a walk.  I did my courtesy wave.  We saw them again on the path at the end of mile 2, and they acknowledged us with, “Wow, you’re fast!”  I told them I didn’t feel fast and then laughed.  Afterall, their comment was coming off of Ella asking me, “Are we walking?” as I ran, pushing her, uphill on the gravel path a few minutes before.

Cal used to do that, too.  Are we walking?  My kids have zero appreciation for how difficult it is to run much less run while pushing an additional 40-50 pounds of a chatty kid trying repeatedly to drum up some dialogue with me and we can’t discount the weight of the stroller, either.

Needless to say, we finished our run without event -– no whining, no “I want to run,” no tears.  Our time was maybe a minute longer than it is when I run alone.  Not bad.  And we were both genuinely content.

As soon as we finished, I leaned over to give Ella “knucks” and thank her for running with me.  I unstrapped her from the stroller and helped her out, offering her my sweaty hand to help and dripping sweat from my forehead and arm onto her as I did so.  Ella recognized this and asked me if I was sweaty.  She’s a perceptive one, she is.

I was hunched over with my hands on my knees and breathing heavy as she asked me this.  “I AM sweaty,” I told her.

She proceeded to bend over with her hands on her knees and breathe heavy herself.  She then looked up and saw our neighbors outside and decided to announce to them, “I’m sweaty.  I just went for a run, and I’m sweaty.”

In the end, it was a really pleasant, albeit physically tough, run with Ella.  I'll take that any day over the reverse, if that's even a possible combination.  I guess sometimes being gluttons for punishment (or glass-is-half-full thinkers despite experience telling us otherwise) occasionally sets the stage for some happy surprises.