You wrap it up the best possible way that you can and say your good byes. You walk out feeling like you just got hit by a 10,000 lb Mac truck.
Yep... that's pretty much what happened last night... after story time.
Like any other night, teeth were brushed, a story was read and Mr Blue Eyes was taken into his room to be tucked in. My Brown Eyed Girl patiently waits for Handy Man and I to return after we have let the dog in, refilled our bedside glasses of water and turned off all of the lights and locked the doors. One-by-one we file into her room to kiss her goodnight. I am typically the second one in for there are prayers to be said and the occasional shadow puppet and corresponding voice to be made so she and I can share one last giggle and smile at the end of our day.
However, last night my Brown Eyed Girl was moping, head hung down, as I entered her room. She and I have been at odds the last few days with our regular power struggle cycle. I asked her to lay down and get in bed and she ignored me. So, I asked again. When I didn't get a reply I said, "Okay then, goodnight. Sleep tight." I proceeded to walk out of her room.
She asked, "Why do you get to be the boss of me?"
"Because I am the Mommy and you are the daughter." and ummm... because I carried you for nearly 10 months and suffered through a c-section. That's why.
"Yeah, well I hate it. I don't think you should get to be my boss. I want to be my own boss and make up what I want to do!"
<deep breath>
"First of all, we don't talk to Mommy like that. Someday when you are 18 you can move out and be your own boss and make up all of your own rules."
As the tears began to well around her tiny little mahogany eyes, "Why do you want me to move out? You don't like me anymore? I don't want to be alone. Won't you miss me?" Must. Remember. She. Takes. EVERYTHING. Literal. Before. Speaking! And she has no concept of ages above 5.
"Honey Mommy doesn't want you to move out. Someday when you get bigger... never mind honey. Look, Mommy loves you very much and it's Mommy's job to help you grow into a good person by teaching you right from wrong, making sure you listen well and are kind to others - like your brother. I am just trying to make you a kind person. And in order to do that, we have rules and I want you to be kind and speak kindly"
"Mommy? Why did you have to have a BOY??? I didn't want a boy I wanted a girl. Why did you do that tooooo meeeeeee? Why did you pick a BOY???" And then there were more tears.
"Ummm, Mommy didn't pick a boy..."
"So how did you get a boy then?" Oh Lord...
"God blessed Mommy and Daddy with a baby girl and a baby boy. He picked what we would have. We were blessed with one of each." Brace yourself, we are just getting warmed up!
"Don't you pray?"
"Yes, Mommy prays."
"Then why didn't you pray to God for a GIRL?? Can you please pray to change Cole into a girl?" more tears...
I then proceeded to explain why having a brother really is cool. He doesn't take or wear her dresses, won't borrow her clothes, she gets to have "Girls Day" alone with just Mommy. If she had a sister, then it wouldn't just be the two of us. She'd have to share her Girls Day with her sister. The tears were fading and a smile was returning.
"Okay Mommy. Can you then just have one more baby but make sure to pray to God and tell him it has to be a girl?' Yeah, that's NOT gonna happen. Sorry love.
"I think Daddy and I are happy with our family just the way it is. We love you sooooo much. Okay honey, Time for bed." Gotta get out'a here stat!
"Mommy? Is it going to thunder, rain, or lightening tonight?"
"Ummm Noooo."
"How do you know?"
"I just do honey. Good night!" because it's winter, and February and there is snow on the ground.
"Mommy? Can you please make sure your TV is turned down?"
"Yep. It always is. Good night!"
"Mommy? I love you and I make you sooooo happy."
"Yes, you make me soooo happy! Mommy loves you very much! Good night honey."
I barely get in my room and tucked into bed and I start telling Handy Man about getting grilled before our door cracks open and our Brown Eyed Girl is standing there in the doorway. My pleading eyes dart over to Handy Man's and they are shouting Please don't make me go back in there!!!
"Daddy? I am too hot. Can you come fix my covers special like you do?"
A sneaky little grin from me, a roll of the eyes from him and he walks off, entering the land of the unknown. bwahhhhaahaa
About ten minutes later, he returned. His eyeballs ping-ponging around in his head. He lays down beside me and starts laughing. I propped myself up on one arm and he begins to paraphrase their conversation. It went something like this:
"Daddy? Where are we going tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow is Thursday... I think it's Grandma's day."
"Yep! Grandma's day. Daddy, I loooove going to Grandma's house. But you know, I can't visit Grandma Alice anymore - she's dead."
"Ummm yep, she went to Heaven." I was giggling uncontrollably by this point in his story so you know.
"Daddy, she didn't go to Heaven, we put her in the ground. Buried her. I saw them. They put her in the ground. We all did."
"Ummm right. But.... her heart went to Heaven."
"How did her heart get out of her body?"
A little pause, "Magic honey. It's time for bed. Good night."
Like he could get off that easy!!! She takes no prisoners in twenty questions!
"Daddy? Are you going to die?"
Poor Daddy... And how does my super factual and realistic Handy Man reply to this? Honesty my dear friends. Honesty.
"Yep."
"You arrrrre???" eyes filling with tears again...
"Yeah, we all die. But I am not going to die for a long time. So, go to sleep. Good night." so factual that Daddy...
"Am I going to die?" literal... remember, everything is literal.
"Someday... but not for a really, really, really long time. So, don't worry. You will be really, really old."
"Like One-hundred?" she just learned to count to 100. It's her new favorite thing - that and barbequing parents.
"Yep. Like one-hundred. Good night."
"Okay Daddy, good night. I love you. I make you and Mommy sooooo happy."
"We love you too."
~ God give us strength to be good parents and answer hard questions.
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