Last night my husband offered to get the boys ready for bed and tuck them in last night so I could have a break. He did this out of the kindness of his heart. Or maybe he did it because I had crazy eyes when I begged him to do it. Who knows? The fact remains that he did it. And as I sat on the couch snuggled up in my favorite blanket I heard snippets of my husband's bedtime conversation technique drifting down from overhead ...
Daddy: "Can't you just brush your teeth already? Wait! Hey! Get back here! Where are your pants?"
(Guffawing from the boys and the sound of feet that are attached to naked legs running on the floor.)
Daddy: "Why are you going in there practically naked with no shirt on? You can't do that. You'll freeze!"
(Riotous laughter from the boys and the sound of feet attached to a body with a naked torso running on the floor.)
Daddy: "You know, in the old days people went to bed with a chamber pot and lots of layers of clothes. When they woke up, the chamber pots were frozen. Do you want to freeze like a chamber pot?"
At this point, there was total silence. His methods may be unorthodox, but they work. Apparently my boys didn't want to become frozen chamber pots because they quietly donned their jammies and slid their no-longer running feet beneath their flannel bedclothes. I guess he confused them to bed.
And me? I remained on the couch with stomach cramps from my attempts not to laugh out loud. I didn't want to wreck it and ruin the chances that someday I might crazy-eye my way into convincing my husband to fly solo on the nighttime routine again.