Putting my kids to bed is always an experience. Mostly bad, hardly ever good. They fight bedtime almost every night, especially with Matthew. Michael usually goes to bed without too many issues. Our routine usually goes something like this with Matthew:
"Time for bed, boys."
So I end up having to literally pick him up and take him upstairs to their room. Just so you know, Matthew is no light-weight. And then, the stalling begins.
"I need a little drink of water"
"I need another little drink"
"I need to tell you a secret"
"No, you need to come closer so I can ask you a secret"
"You forgot to give me another hug and a kiss"
So you get the point. Last night, I thought I had it easy. No fighting to go upstairs. One little drink was all he needed and they were both in bed.
Matthew was a little bit of a chatterbox and Michael had a drama-queen moment: "Mommy, Matthew is being too loud. I can't handle it!"
But all in all, it was pretty painless.
I go to check up on them before I went to bed, but they were not there. Hmm...were they on the floor? Nope.
They were both in Matthew's old crib. Hello?! They hate being called babies, but still want to sleep in a crib. Go figure.
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