"Please, please, just go to sleep."

I hate this. Jack Everett is crying from his bed, "I'm not TIiiiiRED!" We sort of take turns confronting him every time he gets out of his bed. He never runs out of reasons to get up. It's funny when it's someone else's kid; it's terribly frustrating when it is yours. We put him to bed tonight at 8:30pm. It is 10:10pm and we are still at it. At first I felt sorry for him tonight and blamed it on the time change, but almost two hours later, that excuse no longer flies with me.

We know: "You have to be consistent. Make it clear what will happen if he gets up again, and follow through." We have already had to spank him three times tonight. Even on the walk back to his room, knowing a spanking is coming, he is calmly negotiating: "Okay, but don't pull down my Pull-up first, okay Momma, okay?" Reminds me of me growing up. He wailed and wailed, and then got up for a tissue (another one) just three minutes later... totally smiling!

I do not want him to go to sleep and dream about how mean his parents are, having nightmares about wooden spoons. I also don't want him thinking he can play this game each and every night and that bedtime is a negotiable two-hour process.

I have noticed in my close circle of Moms, that we each seem to have different coping mechanisms when our kids are on our last nerves. Some of us cry, some eat, and some yell. One of my coworkers has this urge to exercise. (Why can't that be mine?) Well, I write. It helps me get the frustration out. Sometimes I write about a fun, special time to get my mind off of the current stress, but other times, like tonight, I write about the frustrating event itself. Sometimes I post my Motherhood musings, and many times I don't.

Update: As I write, my imaginative mischievous son is on his bed calling out, no tears, mind you, over and over, "Momma Lion! Baby Lion is not tired!" I have given up. I threw in the towel and sweet Jeff has agreed to step in to give me some time to breathe and to write. It wasn't a spoken transition where I asked him to take over. After three-and-a-half years of tag-teaming this whole parenting thing, we just seem to know when the other needs a break. Plus, I imagine he noticed that I have simply refused to answer the Lion cub's call this time.

Oh gosh - I just heard Baby Lion's door open and he needs to peepee. Thank God for Daddy Lion.

- On a side note, this morning, while getting ready for church, I tore my very last contact while taking off last night's makeup. A few minutes later, I squeezed my earlobe with my hot flat iron doing my hair. After drying my tears, finding my glasses, and squeezing into my maternity jeans straight from the dirty clothes hamper (Don't worry - Jeff fluffed them a few times, making them clean again), we were off to serve in the church nursery, as we do once a month. Thanks to the time change, one of my drowsy two-yr-old kiddos fell asleep on my lap only to pee all over me. So, I had to walk out of the church to the car with a huge wet pee stain down the front of my jeans, looking like the pregnant lady who has already lost control of her bladder. So, this evening was the fitting end to a frazzled day.

So, just as I spell-check this "poor me" pity-party of a blog post, ready to hit "Publish" I feel my little boy kick me. Not Jack Everett - he knows what's good for him. I feel a little kick from our newest miracle, a little boy who will soon join this crazy, unpredictable family.

Just when I needed it most, his gentle nudge reminds me, "This is the day that the Lord has made, I will rejoice and be glad in it!" It's true - it really has been a wonderful day.