Careening Toward Bedtime

 I was reflecting recently on why we don't make evening plans as a family. Are we just not willing to stretch ourselves? Too stuck in a routine, perhaps? I decided I needed to paint a clear picture for myself to help me remember why. 

For years, I've used the phrase "careening toward bedtime" to describe how my children look as bedtime approaches (let's say the three-to-four-hour window prior to bedtime). According to the Webster dictionary, careen (verb) means: to go forward quickly without control. Example: "he careened unsteadily to the couch after hitting his head." I almost laughed out loud at how closely the dictionary's example sentence matched our lived experience of careening toward bedtime. 

When I say the phrase aloud, I see an avalanche snapping pine trees as it pummels down a mountainside. For us, careening toward bedtime has looked and sounded like: 

- two visits to the dentist for "trauma" to the teeth prior to a typical three-year-old cleaning 

- feet kicking windows and picture frames as little bodies do head-stands on the couch

- one partially punctured lower lip after a little boy tripped and face-planted onto the tile floor at Sears during an after-supper errand. Frequent tripping and face-planting is the most common symptom of careening toward bedtime.

- a loud crack sound of child's head ricocheting off the door frame as he or she careens into the living room (this example also applies to headboards, walls, floors, and other family members' heads and faces)

- screams of fear as one sibling, blind with sudden rage, swings fists at the other or grabs fist-fulls of hair from another's head

- screams of pain as mom tries to regain her vision after a child's errant foot sunk a big toe into her eye socket

- gasps of disbelief as a young boy speeds downhill and headlong into a parked stroller he hadn't noticed right in the middle of the sidewalk (thankfully, the stroller was empty)

- gasps and moans as dad recovers from a wrecking-ball head to the crotch

Did I mention that we have some serious sensory processing struggles including a desperate need for "input" via jumping, crashing, headstands, pushing, etc.? This has been obvious in Lukas for years and is becoming increasingly evident for Eliza too. More on that later. 

In general, guiding these wild little beings to bed feels like a really high-stakes game of ping-pong. You track their every move, yell a lot, and try to bump them as they careen in your direction. But, ultimately, you feel very helpless even though you are right there to protect them from themselves.    

Alright, I think that about captures it. This has been really helpful. Now I can re-read this post before making dinner plans. I can send the link to friends if we need to bail on plans we made during one of my recurring episodes of "optimistic amnesia," a topic I will be writing about soon.