We had some friends over for dinner last night. Jake had reconnected with a friend of his after a few years of losing touch due to, well, life. We decided they'd come over and we'd fire up the new grill and take advantage of the gorgeous weather we've had here lately. Then, late last week, Jake got home and said they'd wondered if they could come over a bit earlier so they could meet the kids before we put them down for bed.
I admit- I had to resist the urge to groan out loud, but not because I aspire to be a bitter hostess. Honest. Here's the deal- I truly enjoy having people over. I love cooking for and entertaining people, making them feel at home, and I genuinely look forward to sitting back with a glass (or two) of wine and participating in good conversation. The problem is that the latter part of this simply doesn't happen until the kids are in bed. (Not just in bed, but in the middle of a REM cycle, because simply being "in bed" doesn't ever count). I had my reservations, but because I try to be flexible and because we hadn't seen them in so long, I figured we'd go with it. Just see what happens. Unfortunately, those who are not yet parents sometimes fail to understand that a two and a half year old already has every stall tactic known to man up her pajama sleeve, which she employs every night without fail. They may not be aware that bedtime is already a 40 minute process (on a good night) and that she is keenly aware that you will say yes to just about anything in the name of playing hostess. And you better believe she will work this to her advantage. She knows there's a 99.9% chance she'll get to watch another episode of Dora and eat a bowl full of marshmallows so that you're able to maintain a conversation that's longer than three minutes, get the potatoes in the oven, and throw together a salad.
A few minutes later, once her blood sugar has reached the appropriate level, she will run around yelling the words "fart" and "poop" and turn your couch into a trampoline. Then, she might throw tupperware lids down the steps, laughing hysterically at her own antics. All the while, your guests will laugh and pay her more attention, because they think that's what they're supposed to do when in reality, it's a bit like tossing igniter fluid on an open flame.
I know this will sound like I'm singling people out, and that's really not my intent. Ultimately, I love that people want to spend time with my kids. I can understand the thought process because I used to think the same way. Before I got married and had kids, I always thought, What's the big deal with bedtime?? Just put the kids in bed, sing them a song, turn off the light and you're golden, right? Even in college, I was a nanny during the summers, and had a few overnight babysitting gigs and never had any problems with getting the kids down.
But what I didn't know then (that I'm painfully aware of now) is that your kids will always save their most "special" behavior for Mommy and Daddy. It's part of the blessing.
So half-way into our meal last night, we had managed to get one kid down (the easy one), with one kid to go (the diva). My half-eaten steak was cold, and Ella had squeezed herself onto my chair behind me, asking to see the mole on my back and play with it (no, really. I can't make this stuff up). At which point, I asked if either one of our guests would like to take her up and put her to bed for me, since I was sure she wasn't going down without a fight.
They laughed.
And I laughed too. But only because I didn't want them to feel bad when they realized how serious I was. "Your kids are great," they said as I picked up Ella, grateful that it was finally 7:30, and headed upstairs. Jake and I both smiled- a grin that was one part pride and probably at least two parts exhaustion. "We think so, too."
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