Bedtime, in 4 hours or less

It somehow energizes them...
It somehow energizes them…

I know, you’ve been thinking, Lisala, it’s been so long since you shared your parenting perceptions and insights. Sure, a nice rant, a beautiful pic, sweet tender mishpocheh (family) moments. Today, we revisit bedtime. How on earth do you get the kinder to gai shluffin (the kids to go to sleep)? Well my readers, I offer you our thoughtful child rearing insights, in the form of a song. Hum along if you like, to the tune of Let It Be, you know, by the Beatles:

 

When I find myself in need of slumber

Trying to act sensibly

The whole world feels chaotic, fretfully

Retiring Big and Little takes too long

I doze off first expectantly

The kinder, they’re nocturnal, devilry

Empathy, empathy

Empathy, come and see

What, like our bed is the only bed on earth?

Their own room is so beautiful; come and see

 

I wake up to the sound of squealing,

Maidelahs have taken all control

The Mrs. voice is loudly fuming, testily

I muster up some words of wisdom

Pleading with veracity

Yet my babble is not in sentences, regrettably

Remedy, remedy

Remedy, eventually

We need a two bedroom like we need a luch in kop (hole in the head)?

They’ll sleep in their own bedroom, eventually

 

My Mrs., she chortles at my jabber

The kinder loudly laugh and giggle

Reveling in my senseless banter, splendidly

Minutes have slowly ticked to hours

Empty threats thrown about with leniency

We’re a helpless parent fail, professedly

Sleeplessly, sleeplessly

Sleeplessly, hopefully

Other kids go the fuck to sleep without such a gantseh megillah (long drawn out story)

Tomorrow night will be so much better, hopefully

 

Sleeplessly, sleeplessly

Sleeplessly, hopefully

Other kids go the fuck to sleep without such a gantseh megillah (long drawn out story)

Tomorrow night will be so much better, hopefully

 

Well, you know what they say:

Der shlof iz der bester dokter. Sleep is the best doctor.

Is there a doctor in the house? Oy vey iz mir.

 

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Moments in the dead of night

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It seems like I have 4 kinds of moments in the wee hours of the night. Sleep interrupted.

  1. Manor moments: aka, the walls, they have ears. Our mystery (I wouldn’t know them if I fell on top of them) neighbors that live directly above us in apartment T4, lead a very, well ‘er, active late-night existence. Such ‘fiery devotion’ for each other; Oy how I fear Valentine’s Day! Usually the, uhhh dance, begins with some very loud and disruptive rap music. Rap music? Mind you, this is unsettling to us…Little and Big awaken and are scared. The , kaynahorah, she has a temper…and can bang and yell at the ceiling. The love shack above? They are very pleased with their musical selection, and let’s say, the shtupping begins. Mittendrinnen, the Mrs. is frantically searching Spotify, seeking a LOUD lullaby for the kinder. This to both mask the verbose, verboten vocabulary shared amongst the passionate paramours overhead and quash the questions der kinder may ponder as to what may be occurring. This we don’t need at 1-something am on a school night. A bei gezunt…they should live and be well!
  1. Shpilkas specials: These are those dreaded times when the bladder, she calls, and calls, and calls. And during at least one of these nightly treks, my brain awakens with whatever I fear most, at that very moment. Bills, pain, family, disease, work, politics, life, death–in any random order. So the brain, she keeps revving…the baggage under the eyes grows and morning sets in well before sleep. And, as they say, you can’t outrun the moon. I just get up and do. A bissel more sleep each night, I could hope for. But, you get what you get, and you don’t get upset. 
  1. Points of Pain: The 2:12 am tap on the shoulder. Like I should be so lucky; it’s more a mad kick to the back of the head. My heart, it pounds like Poe’s Telltale Heart. I look over to the , to Little and Big, certain they will stir from the sound of this thumping. This flare up places my kishkas in over drive. At once, tiny beads of sweat form over my entire body. Neck mobility is gone. Every move hurts. The weight of my head on my shoulders is too much to bear; yet somehow, I must make it to the bathroom. Everything inside my body wants to escape the pain in any way it can. North. South. Usually both. No medicine stops it. I reach for my remote control (occipital stimulator) and increase the velocity of my bionics. I’m pleading with the pain to lessen. It’s my “Please, no…please, no” dance. (For laypeople without chronic pain, imagine the dance you do when you use someone’s toilet and it’s about to overflow. That’s the best I can do…) Will I make it through this episode? Will the meds work? Will I be horizontal and dehydrated for days? Will I miss work? Miss life? How much time will I not get back. I may speak a lot of Yiddish, but for me, I get no comfort from prayer. My iPhone-G has no connection. 
  1. Kinder Naches: Little and Big, they still sleep with us. Don’t get me started on sleep, or lack there of…it’s the mantra of parenthood. But sometimes, I wake up in the night and just observe the quiet beauty of the kinder and the I hear the faint sounds of their breath, see the expressions on their faces; realize the joy I take in from these three. My muses. It’s a mitzvah. I lay back down. I smile. I sleep again. Clearly, this is my very favorite of the foursome.

Someday, I’ll have a good night’s sleep. But for now, there’s plenty to do in the waking hours. Moments of good health, moments of not so much. Here’s to a great day!

 

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It’s Bedtime, by Santa

bed 2

Dear Big, mostly Little

It’s Santa you see

To talk about something not so great

Can it be?

 

By day you are both so mighty, so strong

I was hoping this nightfall report was all wrong

By watching, I noticed the shtick and the struggles

For Ema and Mommy who only want snuggles

 

bed 1

Those 8 crazy nights flew by without a tussle

But Santa you know, has so much more muscle

My powers cover the actions of naughty and nice

You may just get gornisht; you’re rollin’ the dice

 

By mail I’ve read of the things on your lists

Your chutzpah dear kinder must cease and desist

Something must change when you climb into that bed

A time filled with shpilkes and unneeded dread

 

Please know shaineh maidels, that I’ve got your number

After brushing and flossing and primping for slumber

When the last pages of book is read and completed

Your Mommies, the neighbors, are all quite depleted

 

Kicking and screaming is never okay

It’s a shandeh especially at this time of the day

You must stop the geshrei-ing and crying you see

And drinking so much that you just have to pee

bed 3

I know you’re not hungry; your belly is fine

Your eyes do not hurt; oh jeez, stop that whine!

Even boogers need rest at the end of the day

So leave them alone in your nose, okay?

 

Life in the Manor was quiet, serene

Before you two pishers came on to the scene

From now on kinderlech, no more meshugener making

Or your tchatchkes and presents will be mine for the taking

 

Be little mensches, close your eyes and gey schluffen

Leave the rumpus behind and there’ll be no more noodgin’

Nod off, conk out, cop some z’s, that’s my wish

Bubelah’s please, tuches ahfen tish!

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What a night for a good dream

dream 2
What a night for a good dream
a good night to work out my shit
I’ve been rollin’ in tsuris
I think my subconsciousness can handle it
And even if daytime’s been hard to toll
It’s one of those nights to tuck in and roll
close the lids and let the movie begin
figure it out and try rememberin’
Dream 1
I was havin’ a good dream
dreamt for all four hours of eve
the mishegas was all solved for
Mazel Tov’s were handed out to me
And even if days have had my kishkas in knots
at least at night I don’t have to plotz
I’m less ferklempt and more a yiddisher kop
The dreck is gone, no pain and have a pug pup
(whistling interlude)
And I can be sure that if I dream a bit
this alte kocker can be an alrightnick
My bubela’s won’t be screamin’, “Oy vey!”
we’ll get by yet another day
dream 3
What a night for a good dream
the dreck is one and we’re all okay
our problems are bubkes
we can shmooze and sing and play all day
(whistling interlude)
special thanks to the Lovin’ Spoonfuls and for the ability to somehow
channel my inner Aunt Frieda

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