I love bedtime

I used to dread bedtime.

Because it always seems to take forever. Especially on those nights when - oh my goodness - you just need them to go to sleep all ready because you've all ready been up with them for 15 straight hours and how can they not even have a glimmer of sleepiness going on?

You know what I'm talking about.

It's tortuous.

And then, weirdly enough, one day I just didn't dread it.

I loved it.

Yes, for real.

And I actually really love bedtime now.

It isn't any quicker. Some nights it takes hours. But I don't find myself wishing they'd hurry up and just fall asleep anymore.

I love how they both pile on my lap in the big chair, each braced with their bedtime story choice. I love how engrossed they are in their books, how they recite the words on the pages with me.

I love how they clasp their tiny hands together and recite the words to "Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep." And then they scurry up to their rooms and put their pj's on and climb into their twin-sized beds.

I love tucking sweet B in while he chatters to me about things I can't even legitimately pretend to understand. And I love that he also chatters to me about things I do understand in his broken baby language. I love that he replays his day to me. "Fell down. Blood. Whoa, Eeo, whoa. Swing like a monkey. Push, push! I wub you, Momma!" Yes, that's his day in a nutshell, most days. And I love it. Minus the blood part, of course. But that just seems inevitable these days.

Then I kiss and snuggle him up and lay down with him for a few minutes, playing with his soft curls, rubbing his tiny back, smelling that awesome baby smell before moving on down the hall to the Pinkalicious room where my big girl is waiting for me.

H and I read from a Veggie Tales books each night, that has a Bible verse and talks about it. It pertains to kids things - obeying your parents, being kind, not lying, being respectful, etc., etc. And there is always a special prayer for that day. And we talk about the day. She reflects on all the good things, she openly discusses and brings up on her own her misbehaviors, and we discuss what a more appropriate reaction should be the next time. I always tell her how beautiful she is - her brain, her heart, and face.

I always tell her how much I adore her. How happy I am to be her momma and how she's the best gift in the world God could have ever given me (I tell this to B, too. But I don't think he quite gets it yet.) H always tells me how lucky she is to have me, too. And that always melts me.

Then she lays down and I cuddle her until she passes out.

So, yes, I love bedtime. As long and gruesome as it sometimes may be. Though there are days I'm exasperated, days I would really like to just be snuggled on the couch with a bottle glass of wine, watching TV, I still love bedtime.

I love the time I get to just read and talk and pray with my children. Those moments before they reach slumberland are when some of our best, heartfelt conversations take place. And knowing that they get to drift into the sweet abyss of dreamland with Momma by their side, safe and secure, makes me overwhelming happy.

I'm sure that I don't do a lot of things right some days. I'm human. I mess up. But bedtime, I get that right. Every night. I get that right.

And I love it.