Five Fun Ways to Make Bedtime Last Forever (as Told by a Toddler)

I’ve been super busy lately with work, marathon training¹, and compulsively watching The Wire², so I enlisted Bubba to fill in for me today. As usual, he was thrilled to use this public forum to contribute another dose of his patented life advice. Take it away, Bubba:

As my mom shared a couple weeks ago, I am officially a Certified Big Boy. That’s right, folks: no more bottles, no more crib, and no more waking up in the middle of the night demanding to join Mom in her luxurious sleeping quarters³. I have my very own bed, complete with awesome construction bedding (THERE’S A DUMP TRUCK ON MY PILLOW!!! This is very, very exciting and I never miss an opportunity to point this out), and I have to say that I don’t miss that baby stuff one bit. My bed is quite cozy, and even I knew that those bottles were just a crutch upon which I could not rely forever. Best of all, though, is something I really don’t think my mom anticipated when she initiated this whole Big Boy Bed thing:

I can’t be trusted to be alone in there while awake (just think of the trouble I could stir up!), so my mom has to lay down in bed with me until I’m almost 100% asleep⁴. EVERY NIGHT! No matter how long it takes!!!

It’s almost unbelievable, you guys! The first few nights, I just asked for a couple songs and poked her in the eye a few times (SO fun), but when I realized that there really didn’t appear to be any limits to how long she’d stick around, I started upping the ante. Can you blame me? Why bother going to sleep when you don’t really have to?

Of course, being an active toddler, sometimes I am pretty tired at night, and trying to stay awake can be a challenge — god forbid I fall asleep quickly and quietly! Luckily, I have developed a few tricks to keep up my sleeve that are guaranteed to keep both my mom AND me awake for as long as humanly possible:

1) Insist on bringing a bunch of stupid shit to bed with you. I’m not talking about a couple of teddy bears — think outside the box! I like to have a variety of accoutrements at my disposal, from Hot Wheels to baseball bats to footballs. Not only will this devious little plan necessitate about sixteen trips out to the living room to gather all your goodies, but you can also play with them once you’re finally forced to lay down! I like to zoom my cars around on Mom’s head and back, for instance. Just don’t get too cocky: if you try to start a game of catch by throwing a football at your half-asleep mother’s face, she will take said football away and you will not get it back till morning. Trust me.

I have not yet concocted a scheme to get that wagon into bed with me, but I’m working on it. Check back in a few weeks and I’ll let you know if I’ve made any progress.

2) Create a sleepy-time ritual that has no foreseeable end. While trying (desperately, I might add) to convince me to close my eyes a few weeks ago, my mom made the adorable mistake of telling me that “everyone else was sleeping.” Everyone, you say? Do you mean…Grandma? And Auntie Jamie? And Ethan from school? And the mailman? And the dog? And my teddy bear? You guys, the possibilities are literally endless. I can easily spend a solid ten minutes confirming that every person, place, and thing in my vocabulary is indeed fast asleep. TV sleeping? Check. Basketball hoop sleeping? You better believe it.

3) Reminisce about old (or not-so-old) times. One of my absolute favorite tactics is to ask my mom if she remembers something. “Remember puke?” I’ll ask, referring to the time I had pneumonia and vomited Motrin all over her. When she confirms that she does indeed remember the incident in question, I proceed to recollect the whole story, sparing no detail. I’ve gotten a lot of mileage out of that pneumonia story: Two shots! Puke got on Gokey! Doctors! Ah, good times. And again, this one has limitless potential! There’s no law dictating that a memory must be old before it can be a topic for reminiscence — ask her if she remembers eating hot dogs for dinner two hours ago! Or if she remembers the Spider-Man pajamas you are wearing right now!

4) Be sweet and adorable. After thirty minutes or so, when I can sense my mom growing a little impatient, I drop the obnoxiousness and dial up the charm. “Mama,” I’ll whisper quietly, gently stroking her face with an angelic smile upon my own, “I love you.” Like she’s gonna leave me alone in there after that, right?!

5) If all else fails, be pathetic. If the other tactics lose their effectiveness and she decides to leave before you’re ready to go to sleep, it’s time to swallow your pride and dig deep: puppy-dog eyes and a teary plea of “Mama lay down too??” or “Mama stay with Bubba pwease!!!” almost always does the trick. Guilt-tripping is an underrated tool, really.

See? With the right techniques, staying up until all hours of the night is easy, and it’s great fun for all involved⁵. And as evidenced by the above screen-capture from the baby cam, I do, eventually, fall asleep. When I’m good and ready.

…………………………………

Footnotes:

¹Yes, I’m torturing myself with this nonsense again. Maybe this time I’ll eat enough to stave off the debilitating hunger that had me fantasizing about flashing my boobs in exchange for a single unsalted pretzel by mile 18.

²I’m only 10 years behind on my TV watching now! Someday I’ll get around to checking out that Friends show everyone talks about.

³If you don’t have a thick, fluffy mattress topper, I implore you to stop everything that you’re doing and go to Target to procure one IMMEDIATELY. Your life will never be the same.

⁴Before you chastise me, let me clarify that I do know that I could leave him in there to fall asleep on his own; I have both a monitor and a camera to keep tabs on him and could no doubt run in there at the first sign of danger and/or naughtiness. But alas, I am more than just a little insane, and the thought of him roaming about in his room alone — in the dark, no less! — is too much to bear.

⁵This is a lie. Except for #4, that one is pretty fun.

Five Proven Ways to Make Your Mom Feel Like the Worst Mother Ever (GUARANTEED!)

Today I have another very special guest post from the one and only Bubba! I hope you enjoy his advice and that you’re sufficiently impressed by his advanced writing skills.

I may be seven weeks shy of my second birthday, but I already consider myself an expert when it comes to guilt-tripping. It only took a matter of weeks after my birth for me to figure out that my poor mother (whom I do love dearly; don’t get me wrong!) is something of a nutjob. I could see right from the get-go that she was quite nervous about messing something up or not spending enough time with me, so naturally I’ve made it my life’s work to exploit her insecurities and drive her insane. Unlike some lazy babies who are content to sit around playing and snuggling and sleeping, I’ve spent the last 22 months honing my craft, always on the lookout for new ways to mess with Mom. I’m happy to report that it’s working out swimmingly: my mom often feels bad and gives me exactly what I want! Even more importantly, this is all just really, really fun for me.

above: SCHEMING, always scheming!

If you aren’t a pro like me, don’t panic: I can help! Whether you’re looking for a quick way to drive your mom crazy at the store or if you’ve got a lot of time on your hands and want to begin an ongoing scheme (a long-con can be very satisfying), I’ve got something that will work for you. Unless your mom has a heart of stone, at least one of my tried-and-true methods should do the trick:

1) Wait a really long time to say “Mama.” Like, months after you start saying other words — she will obsess over it and start to wonder why you hate her, which is fun to watch. Plus, when you finally start saying it, she’ll be so happy to hear your sweet little voice calling her name that she won’t even mind that you’re being obnoxious and hollering at her to come get you out of bed or whatever.

2) If your parents are leaving you with a babysitter so they can have a “date night” (whatever that is; sounds super lame and not nearly as fun as hanging out with their beloved child, right?), cry hysterically and hang onto your mom’s leg as she tries to leave. Your mom will feel really bad and worry about you the whole time she’s gone (and of course as soon as she leaves, you can give up the act and have fun with the babysitter anyway!).

3) If you have a special teddy bear that you usually take with you everywhere you go and your mom asks you if you want to bring it to the park, say “no” and run to the car chanting “Park! Park! Park!” so she becomes convinced that the excitement of the park is outweighing your usual addiction to your teddy bear. Then, when you get to the park, ask her for the bear and rummage pathetically through her purse in hopes of finding it even though you know it’s back at home. Then cry about it. HA!

4) Short trips to the store and the like are perfect for a quick guilt-trip. Ask for water and very specific snacks, neither of which your mom brought along since she wasn’t expecting to be gone for long. Begging for water is really good, because what kind of monster would deny their child hydration? If she did bring water, you can always pretend it’s too warm and beg for ice!

5) If your mom works, point at her computer and say “puters” (as in, “computers”) and “work” in a really sad voice, like your little heart is broken that she spends so much time working on her ‘puter instead of playing with you. Classic, right?!

Now, before you soldier forth to employ these techniques, it’s important to note that balance is the key to success. If you act like a psychopath all the time, eventually your mom will probably start believing that you really are crazy and that it’s not her fault after all, and you definitely don’t want that! Remember, the goal is to make your mom feel a little bad every once in a while so you can reap the rewards of extra attention and indulgences (one time I got cookies while we were shopping!), not to get yourself committed to a toddler insane asylum. Sometimes, you’ve gotta just be a sweetie pie:

Then you go in for the kill!

Good luck!

Top Ten Tuesday: #1 Dad!

Guys! Guys!

It’s me, Ryan. Or as my mom calls me (for NO good reason, I might add), Bubba.

(I’m not even fat.)

Anyway, last week my mom reminded me that Father’s Day was coming up and strongly hinted that I should write something sweet and sentimental for my dad, like I did last year. Well, I don’t know if you guys are aware, but I am an extremely busy lad. I go to school every day, and when I’m at home, there are toys to be thrown, couches to be climbed on, dogs to try to ride — you get the picture. Free time is scarce! I can’t even think of the last time I was able to rest quietly on Mama’s lap for more than three minutes before I remembered something urgent I had to immediately attend to, like begging for cookies.

My point is, time got away from me. You know how it is. I just wasn’t able to get it together last week to write a tribute to my dad, which is unfortunate because he really does deserve it. He’s pretty much the greatest, and I’m not just saying that because I rely on him to feed me when my mom’s not around — he’s really and truly GREAT! Definitely the best dad I’ve ever had. Wanna know why? OF COURSE YOU DO! Check out my list of the top ten reasons my dad is seriously the best dad EVER:

10) He does fun stuff like throw me in the air, chase me around the house, and carry me around in laundry baskets:

Even when Mom says it looks too dangerous, Dad perseveres! WOOHOO!

9) He walks me to school every morning and never forgets my lunch or the bag with my extra clothes (which I always need because I can’t manage to keep a t-shirt clean for more than about an hour at a time).

8) When I wake up in the middle of the night, he lets Mom bring me into their bed to snuggle! Even though I never go back to sleep and totally think it’s party time as soon as we get in there and I kick him in the back and sing songs and try to climb on him! At 3am!

7) Messiness is NOT a concern for Dad! With Dad, I can get myself and the house as filthy as I want, and it’s AWESOME.

6) He’s very concerned about my stupid allergies. He never forgets to give me my medicine (and even drives Mom crazy by asking her fifty times a night if she gave it to me yet) and he does lots of research on everything I eat to make sure it won’t make me itchy.

That’s me on Dad’s lap on Mother’s Day, when I had some bad reactions going on (see how I’m scratching my neck? Yes, ’twas quite sad). Don’t worry, he took me to the doctor the next morning!

5) He’s always coming up with fun activities to do with me when I get older. Apparently, we’re gonna go to a WWE show when I’m 4! And I’m gonna do jiu jitsu as soon as he can find a place that allows maniac small children to participate!

4) He’s SOOOOOOOO funny! He does crazy voices, makes weird noises, and sings hilarious songs. He makes Mom laugh a lot, too (well, sometimes she rolls her eyes. OK, oftentimes).

3) When Mom is busy running marathons or cleaning the house or whatever boring “mom” stuff she needs to do in peace, Dad takes me to the park — just the two of us!

2) He keeps my mom sane. The importance of this cannot be understated! THANK YOU, DAD!!!!

1) He’s so loving and dedicated. Please excuse the sappiness here, but it must be mentioned. I can really tell how much he loves me and Mama. We’re so lucky!

See? I told you he was the BEST!

Bottle Addict

Today’s post is written by Bubba himself! Well, I transcribed it for him…but the sentiment is all his.

My name is Ryan Wachter, and I am a bottle addict.

It’s very difficult to admit to myself that I have a problem, but I can no longer deny reality: I am entirely too dependent on that sweet white nectar and the comforting silicon teat through which it’s delivered. In recent weeks it has become increasingly rare for me to even consider falling asleep without a bottle, and if another is not available to me immediately upon waking up, I have been known to turn into a screeching, sobbing maniac (even if the slumber from which I’m awaking was just a quick nap and I had just had a bottle prior to said snooze). Many’s the time that I’ve awoken with a jolt at 2am, jonesing for the good stuff, and flat-out refused all other comfort measures offered by my long-suffering mother until she finally gave up and produced a bottle (which I then sucked on for precisely 30 seconds before chucking it out of the crib and going back to sleep).

I am not proud of myself.

You’re probably wondering how I ended up this way. Like most babies, I’ve always enjoyed a good bottle — both for the tasty milk itself as well as the simple fun of sucking on it — but my innocent affinity turned into something darker only recently. I suppose things started to go downhill as soon as I mastered saying “BABA!”. How I love to say that word! I get such a thrill from barking it at my mom, demanding that she fetch me one. It’s so much better than non-specific whimpering, or, worse yet, giving up and just moving on to some other distraction. Then I learned where the bottles are kept, and I was able to up the ante by running over there, outstretching my hands in desperation, and issuing my plea. Like this, but with tears, because life is so hard:

Since my sweet, pathetic mom is so eager to please me, I always get my way, so I simply became accustomed to indulging in some bottle therapy whenever the mood struck!

(I know addicts aren’t supposed to blame others for their problem, but come on: surely my mom deserves some castigation here, no? I am, after all, a goddamn baby. As my dad is fond of pointing out to her, she could say no to me every once in a while.)

Adding to both mine and the aforementioned pathetic mother’s collective denial was the fact that it all seemed so harmless. It’s just milk! And I’m just 16 months old! Can’t a kid drink a bottle? But the other night, I hit rock bottom. After drinking my usual pre-bedtime bottle, Mama put me in bed like usual, but, as has become all too common lately, I refused to sleep until she brought me more milk. A few hours later, I woke up and demanded another (my mom actually tried to trick me by giving me a pacifier — which I never liked, not even as an infant, and haven’t even touched in at least a year; I don’t even know where she found that disgusting thing and I sincerely hope she sanitized it first — thinking perhaps I just needed something to suck on; she thought wrong). Then, not three hours later, I did it again! And then at 5am, before the sun had even come up, I begged for yet another!

By the time my mom plucked me from my bed to get ready for the day, my floor was littered in half-drunk bottles (as previously mentioned, I like to throw them out of the crib as soon as I’ve gotten my fix — which could be anywhere from one sip to the whole thing, and there’s no way of guessing how much I’ll want at any given time), droplets of now-sour milk dotting the carpet. It was eye-opening, really: surely that mess wasn’t all from one night, right? And worst of all, I still wanted my breakfast bottle but all the bottles were on the floor of my bedroom and I had to wait in agony for an endless three minutes while Mama washed one of them!

Enough is enough. I can’t live like this anymore! It’s time to turn over a new leaf, a leaf wherein I’m capable of falling asleep and waking up without relying on this crutch. I’ll still drink milk, of course, but surely I’m old enough to just drink it out of a cup like a normal human.

Grant me the strength!!!

To Daddy from Bubba

Ry Ry is still a month or two away from being able to write all by himself (he really needs to buckle down on his academics; there’s been FAR too much “roll around on the floor and try to lick the carpet” and not nearly enough hitting the books going on lately…unless you count literally hitting books, which is a favorite activity), so he asked me to transcribe a father’s day card to TFW on his behalf. It took a while to interpret and then translate his assorted babbles, shrieks, and cackles (seriously, what is so funny all the time?? Answer: everything), so we weren’t able to complete it in time for our official father’s day celebration yesterday.

In retaliation for my taking so long to translate his personalized message, the little hooligan totally tried to take credit for MY card yesterday:

Next thing you know he’ll be claiming responsibility for my cooking and cleaning, too. Good thing I rarely do those things.

Anyway, better late than never – onward to Bubba’s note!