The husband and I have taken on a few summer extra curricular activities. You know, because working two jobs and raising a toddler just isn’t quite enough. Besides co-ed softball on Sunday nights (that just happened to get me home at 11:45 this past Sunday) we are on the women’s and men’s golf leagues at our local
feedlot buffalo grass farm golf course. Women’s league is Tuesday nights and very laid back. Men’s league is Thursday nights and more competitive than 1am pool matches at the local dive bar.
The one great thing about these nights, well two really, is that we each get a night out full of exercise and adult interaction with people that do not share any of our blood lines. The second awesome thing is
no parenting duties for the night alone time with the Ems.
Last night was a stellar night for my golf game. I had a few good hits and was able to really tighten up the new stance and swing a co-more-experienced-follow-the-rules-golfer taught me the week prior. I was feeling pretty good about myself. I stayed for dinner with the ladies and was one of the last 4 to leave. The night was filled with great conversation, good food, and bountiful drinks…for everyone but my pitiful on-call self. I knew Embers was in great hands. After all, she was with her own flesh and blood. It was just one of those nights where I was riding high off of the feeling that I actually was noticed by my peers and people of my community and they enjoyed what I had to say. It was awesome…until I walked in my door at home.
That’s when I heard it. The oh so distinct sounds of educational children’s programming, Yo Gabba Gabba. what.the.funk? I’m pretty sure neither the hubs nor I would willingly watch that without Emberly. I mean, it’s 9:45. There’s no way in hell she’s still awake. Or more importantly, not in her bed. It usually takes her an hour of decompress time (ie: telling her bear, Tacoma, stories, rearranging the 20 billion stuffed toys in her bed, singing songs). But out of her room? Hell to the no! She does that shit in her own crib.
::insert instant hella pissed blood boil into my veins:: Oh here go hell come!
The hubs, however, did not understand why I was reacting so harshly. Sure she has to be up early for daycare. And sure she’s usually not a morning person. However, B assured me that she would sleep soundly. Obviously. We all know how much more well rested we are when we go to bed LATER! AND, she asked very nicely to watch Gabba.
Well, enough said. She asked nicely. Who are we to say no? Oh right. We’re her parents. We’re the ones who are responsible for shaping who she is and making sure she has set limits. I almost stopped myself, but it had to be said. “You know, just because she asks nicely does NOT mean she should be able to do it. Especially an hour after she normally is put down for bed.” He was aghast. “Are you really going to give me this parenting lecture?” Hello? You obviously need it. However, I was tired. I’d had enough. Potty, pjs, bed. It was over…except for the massive breakdown that followed not being able to finish that particular Gabba episode she’s only seen 25 times and the screaming for Daddy who has just been deemed the good cop. I wonder how it will end? Will they ‘ah, break it down now’?! Spoiler: they did break it down. And listening and dancing to music is still awesome.
The next morning I was still a little bitter, but willing to give B’s more “sound sleep” theory a chance. I’m sure you can all guess what happened once she woke up and B had already conveniently left for work. Ultra-super-whiny-screamy superbness.
I was handling it. Hadn’t even come 1/4 of the way to losing my shit, but figured B needed to be aware of what he caused. So I text him “She’s just a screaming blast this morning. It’s a shame you have to miss this.” His bright idea, call and talk to her on the phone. That’s right, he is going to save the day by calling and trying to talk to a screaming kid over the phone. Naturally, after 3 minutes of holding the phone up to her as she hid behind the couch, she calmed down a bit. B told me that I was welcome for him doing me a favor. Stop the truck. YOU did ME a favor. If it weren’t for your jackassery, she wouldn’t be in this mood. Oh. He thought he may have understood my reasoning. However, that night after work, he just could not place his finger on why she was so uncontrollably moody.
So yeah, she went to be by 8:05 that night. It just so happens that she woke up in the greatest mood that next morning. Shocker!
From now on I think I’ll just tell B to leave the Good Cop/Bad Cop to our bedroom, after Emberly has gone to be at a reasonable hour.