bedtime
Fun Stories for Children at Bedtime
I know I have mentioned it before in at least one previous post, that bedtime with the kids when they were little was my gig. I was the one to steer them through the pre-bedtime checklist. Jammies on, teeth brushed and flossed, drinks, fluoride rinse, potty, the story, kisses and hugs, and ended with the good night prayer.
Once Amber and Amy were grade school age a new tradition was born. We still continued with the standard pre-bedtime checklist, but the story time change dramatically. I began to make up a new story each night for them.
The setting for the story remained the same, and so did the main characters. Night after night I would take them on a new adventure with these cute bedtime friends.
“Daddy tell us a new story tonight”, they would plead.
“Okay, but you have to get ready before we start, so hurry”, was my usual reply. This of course sent them scurrying to get the checklist finished asap. I loved the leverage the story time had on their motivation. Admittedly, I took extreme advantage of it. For sure I used it as a bribe more times than I can remember.
After they had finished the checklist the three of us would plop down on their bed together and they would eagerly wait for me to start. Sometimes the wait was too much for them because I was too slow.
“Start the story Daddy! You’re taking too long,” they would moan.
“I’m trying girls, but I have to think of a new story and I haven’t thought about this at all today.”
“Hurry please. Start the story, we’re getting bored.”
Oh, the pressure.
Once I started they snuggled in closer to me and were all ears. I would take them to their favorite and familiar spots. They would find their best story buddies up to their necks in trouble, or in some adventure too big for them to handle. Sometimes it became unbearably dangerous and they thought something scary was going to happen.
“Maybe I should stop since you’re so worried?” I would ask.
“Nooooo! Don’t stop now,” was their big eyed answer each time.
Over the three years I told these stories they began to change, to morph into something different. Even though the main characters and setting stayed the same, I would introduce a mystery character. I would use vague descriptions about this mystery character throughout the story. Small clues that would reveal their identity. The girls had to pay close attention if they were to guess who it was once the story was finished. These mystery characters could be anyone. They could be a real person, a movie character, a book character, a cartoon character, a Bible character, a family member, a pet or animal, literally anyone.
The stories had become interactive now. After the story ended they could ask me all the questions they wanted to. Only questions with yes & no answers were allowed. Each of the girls was granted only one guess at the mystery character’s identity. If they both were wrong, I would win the game and tell them the answer. If one of them figured it out and named the character correctly, they won the game.
Sometimes they asked a gazillion questions and still never figured it out. Other times they asked one, two, maybe three questions tops and nailed it right off the bat. I remember times that I thought I had the perfect character that neither of them would ever figure out, only to have them guess correctly after one solitary question. How rude!
Other nights when I was especially tired I would pick the easiest character possible only to have them trip over it forever, or never figure it out at all. Maybe they knew my game and played me instead. They are very bright girls after all.
No matter who may have been working whom, these are moments I will never forget. They will always be a part of our bedtime memories together when they were little. It was just last year when Amy came up to me and asked me to tell her another story. She’s a high-schooler, and still wanted to hear another one.
I would love to tell you all about them, really I would, but I won’t. I’m writing them down for my grandkids, and maybe for others too if you will. After all, everyone can always use fun stories for children at bedtime.
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Landmines in the Bedroom
I remember listening to a teaching once in regard to couples who were engaged to be married soon. Each of the couple grew up in a family where that family dynamic was their “normal”. Instinctively each of them would be bringing that “normal” into their new marriage. The opportunity for a collision of worlds was inevitable and to be expected. The goal in understanding this truth was to begin making their own new “normal” together as a new family.
My personal enlightenment to this truth hadn’t come from a nice clean-cut teaching early on in our marriage, but rather in the trenches of real life experience. Like many newly married couples Marm and I worked out our “normal” as each situation arose.
I grew up in a “normal” where bedtime was strictly observed and routine was important. Brushed my teeth, went to the bathroom, got my drink, said goodnight to the folks, and went off to bed in my room. There was no talking or making noise, and I certainly didn’t come out again until morning. I had no problem with this routine what-so-ever. It was my normal.
Fast forward with me now and you find a married man with a house full of children. The crib over the years had always been beside our bed. The babies were at hand in our room for easy access during the night, and for a sense of belonging and being close to us. Our family “normal” looked completely different from the ones we had grown up with as kids.
Our children loved to sleep with us. This was fine when they’re very little, and very practical. Having the baby in the bed with us was amazing and I loved it. As they grew bigger and slept at every angle known to man, it became more of a challenge.
To solve this dilemma we made beds on the floor in our room for the kids. Sleeping bags, pads, blankets, pillows, and “stuffies” of varied shapes and sizes were everywhere. A birdseye view of the room would never be a picture that made it into a “Boudoirs of the Rich and Famous”. It was a deliciously chaotic scene.
After the bedtime preparations were complete the kids would crawl into their floor beds and begin dropping off to sleep. We loved having them so close, and they did too.
Mornings were a bit trickier. I was the first to rise in our family, the proverbial early bird. 4 or 5 o’clock was my normal time to wake up, and as such required the utmost quiet. The first thing I had to do before making a move of any sort was to remember where the kids were on the floor the night before. Let’s see, one on the floor by my side of the bed, one at the corner at my end of the bed, one over on the floor by Marm’s side at the end, and so on. That’s how it looked when we put them to bed anyway. It’s morning now and they have had the entire night to change things up. It was that “move at every angle known to man” thing.
The second thing to do was make a visual inspection. At 5:00 in the morning it’s still dark outside, so night lights were my heroes. “Shoot, they’ve moved,” I would whisper under my breath while beginning the assessment. Once I made out their new general locations it was time to move on to step three. Where are their appendages?
I can still feel to this day placing a carefully misguided foot down on top of an arm or leg that shouldn’t have been there. How can a child all curled up at the bottom of a sleeping bag have their arm sticking out just waiting for me to step on it? I wish I had home movies of me negotiating this maze. I would carefully thread my way in and around their little bodies silent as a mouse . More than once I had accidentally stepped on the long hair of one of the girls and felt it tugging on their head. The little groan from within the pile of blankets confirmed my findings. Yep, that was hair.
Ultimately and after a wildly awkward balancing act that should qualify me as a prima ballerina I would make it to my dresser and closet for the much-needed clothes for the day. It didn’t take me long before I was putting said clothes in the hallway the night before.
Marm and I would laugh together as I would relate these morning antics to her. We would remind each other that it wouldn’t too long and the kids would want to move to their own rooms and beds. Sadly, that was all too true.
It’s ironic that I am actually the only one who remembers these morning moments. After all, I was the only one awake to see them. Secretly I’m nursing the idea that some day soon my grandchildren will be old enough to sleep over, and maybe they’ll be the next set of landmines in the bedroom.
In coming!
Curls & Capes 