That's a load of shit. Everyone in this house, including the dogs, knows that statement is one big steaming pile that carries no meaning at all. The statement "My dog is the smartest animal on the planet" has more validity than the one I just gave my kids.
We all know that this isn't going to happen. We all know that they won't stay in their rooms. I can hear them up there playing already. Little Hoss is laughing and I can only assume that it is because she is punching her little brother in the face. Last night I actually had to say this: Please do not make your little brother smell Barbie's booty. Seriously, that's what I had to say. I'm not even making that up, just telling you the way it happened. That's why this blog is so easy to write.
We put the kids down at 7:30 every night. You might assume that his is some sort of parental principle, that there is a reason why we put them to bed at that time. That's a load of shit too though. There is no real reason why we put them to bed at 7:30. 7:30, 8--the number is almost completely arbitrary. We asked our doctor when Little Hoss was born what time was good for bedtime. She said 7:30. We didn't even ask why. We just said ok and have been doing that for almost 5 years.
You hear that kids? There is no real reason for your bedtimes. We are just making crap up down here. When you are older and are reading this, you might get a little upset at our lack of reasoning. I don't care. Suck it up. You're adults now. Move out of my house.
I suppose if I had to give a reason it may be because that when the good TV shows come on that you can't watch. Not because it may "contain adult situations" but because if it's not stupid Dora the Explorer or Dinosaur Train, you won't shut up. So there you go, that reason is as good as any other.
But don't worry, the kids have their vengeance. They never, ever stay up stairs in their rooms for the first hour of bedtime anymore unless I slipped them some NyQuil with dinner. They always come down for something. Sometimes it's for a drink of water even though they just had one 10 minutes ago. Sometimes it's to go to the bathroom although there is a fully functioning bathroom directly across the hall from your rooms.
Last night with my son it was:
"Dad, I gotta tell you a secret."
"No, go to bed."
"But DAAAAAADDDDDDD, I have to tell you a secret. Boris told me to tell you!" Boris is the T-Rex from Dinosaur train. For such a ferocious creature, I find Boris to be a bit of a pussy.
"Fine son, what's your secret."
He scoots down on his butt the way that children do when they are coming down stairs in their feety pajamas. I remember doing this. I tried it as an adult. Not so cool when you are 36. Things have, um, "dropped" down there and I found it not to be a pleasant experience. Not pleasant experience at all.
My son climbs on my lap, gets real close to my ear and whispers "Dad, I love you."
See this is not fair. You can't do this because then it makes it harder for me to bust you about being out of your bedroom. And where is Little Hoss during all this? She is at the top of the stairs hiding in the shadows like Senator Palpitine. She put her brother up to this. She knows that if he makes it down, it's only fair that she get to come down for a second as well. And if he gets in trouble then she has only sacrificed an idiot pawn. She is pulling the strings for the puppet.
As I'm writing this we are getting the first official visit from upstairs but at least it's a little bit different this time. Little Hoss is crying and rubbing her head. She is doing that slow kid walk to milk everything out of this that she can. She doesn't miss one angle, not one at all.
"What happened?" I say, still sitting in my chair. I have been through this enough that I know bullshit when I see it.
"My brother hit me on the head." she says and then she cries louder. She was almost fine until I asked her what was wrong. Now by the very fact that I asked her it has somehow made it worse. And by making it worse she knows that she can easily come downstairs and stay a fraction of a second longer.
"Fine. Come down here and I'll kiss it."
I suppose that the little man finally got tired of being the one always taking the orders and the risks. But now I have to call him down so that he knows that it's not ok to pop his sister in the head. Which means he gets to come downstairs to.
This game they are playing is getting very complicated. I could say "Don't come down here unless the house is on fire" but I dare not because the next thing you know, they will set the house on fire and will be happily scooting down the stairs in their feety pajamas. Laughing all the way.
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