The days were great. They were spent riding bikes, playing on playgrounds, hanging out with the grandparents. We had a summer day on the deck playing in water followed by a winter day of sledding at Bunny Flats. Oskar and Alva did crafts with Grandma and enjoyed silly stories with Grandpa. It was serene and ideal.
That is until the sun went down. Then the battles began.
I am still not sure what happened. Was it the two kids sharing a room by themselves for the first time? Was it a big girl bed for Alva? Was it the excitement of having the grandparents around?
Whatever it was, starting at 7:30pm every night, when the kids were in pajamas, teeth were brushed, stories were read and told and Martin and I started the strategic maneuvering of trying to get the kids in bed that things began to fall apart. There was the need for water, the need to go pee, the need to get out of bed just one more time. In and out of bed the kids went and up and down the stairs we went. It would have been a comically dance if it weren’t so frustrating. Our two kids who normally crawl into bed without protest or fight we’re going down in a blaze of glory, willing to battle it out until shear exhaustion overtook them an hour later.
By 8:30pm (if we were lucky) the battle was over and both kids were asleep leaving Martin and I shell-shocked on the couch trying to figure out how and where we went wrong each night.
We still don’t know what happened, and the issue still persists most nights when not at home, including each weekend at Timber Cove. But I am hoping like all things, this is only a phase and they will eventually grow out of it. In the meantime, Bob’s your uncle, and we will go with it.
