Robots Are Not Fun!

Our son Jack has become a bedtime stall artist on the grandest scale.

I am thankful for the three years of (relatively) easy bedtimes we’ve had with Jack, don’t get me wrong.  Other than two short but tramatic periods – when we had to let him cry it out to learn to soothe himself to sleep (20 min for 2 nights and totally worth it for all family members), and when we had to wean him from the pacifier (another 20 min of crying for about 2 nights and totally worth it for future orthodontia work) – he’s been a dream boy at bedtime.

We didn’t even transition him to a “big boy” bed from his crib until he was almost 3 years old because there was no need…not once did he ever try to climb out of it or do any of the stunts you hear of kids trying in their cribs when they get more adventurous.  And then, when we did transition him to his big boy bed, it took him another ~6 months to figure out that he could actually get out of bed once we’d tucked him in and kissed him goodnight (even though he climbed into it on his own, and out of it on his own in the mornings).

But – wow! – once he realized he could climb out of it at night after he’d been tucked in….that’s when all the fun started!

At first, it was manageable…a couple of extra kisses goodnight and tucks back into bed.

Soon, however, it turned into multiple trips out into the hall, standing at the balcony railing, looking at Mom and/or Dad down below, and trying to come up with excuses of why he needed to get out of bed.

Some of my favorites have been:

• “I just wanted to say ‘night night’ one last time.” (This one is generally used at least three times in a given evening).

• “I drank my water down to [there] and I want more.” (Usually used when he’s drunk around a quarter of his full sippy cup’s worth of water.)

• “My sock came off.” (He’s known how to put his own socks on since he was 2 1/2 yrs, but somehow at night he can’t seem to remember …. even though getting them off is no problem, apparently.)

• “I have a bruise and need cream on it.” (We make sure he’s all creamed and bandaged up as needed before saying goodnight, so he fabricates ouches frequently.  Unfortunately for him, sometimes he forgets just what gets cream (itches and rashes), what gets bandaids (cuts and scrapes), and what just gets some extra kisses (bruises and bumps).

But tonight, as I was getting into my own post-kid-bedtime routine of kitchen clean up, mail sorting, email checking, etc., I heard the best one of them all:

“Robots are not fun.”

He is standing on the balcony, his teddy bear in his hand and blonde hair already ruffled from tossing in bed, wearing his robot pajamas.  This is his fifth trip out, so I’m already a little (OK – a lot) frustrated.

“Jack, go back to bed,” I say in my firm Momma voice.

“But I don’t want to wear robot jammas,” he says in his lightly whiny voice.

“Jack, you specifically chose those pajamas tonight.  Daddy had your truck jammas picked out but you insisted on robots.”

“But robots are not fun.” He’s now using his highly whiny voice.

“Jack, we’re not changing your pajamas.  You need to get back in bed.”

“But I want to wear my truck pajamas.” He’s escalated to his fake crying that he uses when he wants to get his way and he’s starting to realize he might not.

Lots of things are going through my head.  Not one of them includes actually going up and getting him in new pajamas, but I do consider suggesting he change himself (which he can do).  I eventually just decide to dig in, because I have learned when you give an inch, kids take a mile, and if I go up and change him, I’ll be regretting that decision for weeks to come.

“Jack, we are not changing your pajamas.  I’m not going to talk about it anymore.  These are the pajamas you chose tonight and we are not changing them.”

“But robots are not fun,” he repeats, still fussy-crying.

“I’m sorry, honey, that you don’t like these pajamas anymore.  We’ll wear different ones tomorrow night.  But right now you need to get back in bed and go to sleep.  I love you very much.” I start backing away toward my bedroom where he won’t see me anymore, waving and saying “Goodnight.”

As I walked into my bedroom, stopping right where I was just out of his sight, I listened.

“Robots are not fun…..Robots are not fun…..Robots are not fun….” He repeated the phrase over and over.  Just as I walked out again so he would know I was still there, and still wanting him to go to bed, I heard him shut his bedroom door.

Over the monitor, I heard:  “Robots are not fun…..robots are not fun…..”

Soon, he was singing the words in some silly tune.  As I watched him on the video monitor, I saw him throwing his teddy bear up in the air while lying down on his bed kicking his feet, all the while repeating:  “Robots are not fun…..Robots are not fun….Robots are not fun.”

He was asleep within five minutes.

So much for really hating those robot pajamas, my little sweetie.