Speaking of which...
As I was putting (shoving, taping into, pleading and begging and more shoving) my kids to bed tonight, I was trying to remember what MY bedtime was like as a child. So, circa six years old, I remember...
- Taking about one bath a year. It was probably more, since I remember it was my father who gave it to me, which means I'm probably blanking on the 364 other baths I got at age six. Sorry Mom.
- Never fighting to stay up later. I knew that I'd never get to see the shows that came on at eight thirty. I'm sure I never even had a word of protest about going to bed, because clearly, I'd remember that.
- My room was always clea... never mind, I can't even type that with a straight face. I remember my room was a mess. Always.
- My mother singing to my brother and I, either taking turns in each of our rooms, or sitting in the hallway between us. Occasionally, she would move the record player to the hallway, and focus one of the humungo 80's speakers in each of our doorways so we could fall asleep to a Sesame Street record, or possibly 613 Torah Avenue. And we would never come out of bed. Ever.
- I also remember trying to fall out of bed (and sometimes doing so on purpose) to make my mother come, but she never came when it was fake, only when it was real. How did she do that?
Except maybe she was, you know. Maybe she was.