More bedtime bedlam
When we left our heroes, Little Guy’s big-boy bed had just arrived. He hated it. Big Guy, on the other hand, loved it. They’ve been sleeping together since. Most nights, that is – except for three, including last night.
When it comes to discipline, I’m a steel-coated marshmallow. So the first week of the bed-share experiment, I let a nightly gabfest go because I wanted this to work. There are so many advantages to being roommates – learning to share, more brotherly closeness.
All right, I’m lying. I wanted this to work because I lost my computer room when Little Guy moved in, and I want it back.
Honestly, it isn’t Big Guy’s fault he can’t shut up. He’s a blabbermouth by nature. He’ll yak to anyone, anywhere. Before he moved into Little Guy’s room, he’d lie in bed yammer to himself for 10, 15 minutes. Now he had a captive audience.
And I had proof Big Guy was instigating the talkathons. There’s still a monitor in the room. I’ll probably use one where ever Big Guy sleeps until he’s 30 or so. I’m too afraid of not hearing a late-night asthma attack to move it.
I'd crank up the volume every night and hear indecipherable whisper, whisper, whisper, then Little Guy giggles. It didn’t take Monk to figure it out.
I’d give three “hush!” warnings, getting Really Stern on the last one.
Early into the second week, it was obvious Big Guy was going to keep on until he got called out. So I went to the Death Penalty: Big Guy, you are hereby sentenced to spend the night in your room, for the crime of disturbing your brother’s peace.
Oh, the screams of protest! Oh, the permanent hearing damage from screams of protest broadcast over a monitor amped to near-maximum level.
Life was peaceable for a week. I’d put them in bed, read, sing our songs and shut the door. Ten minutes later, I’d give a final warning, and that was enough.
Until two nights ago. Death Penalty time again. More screams of protest. More begging for another chance. More promises to behave. “You’ll get your chance to behave. Tomorrow,” I said.
The next day, we had a nice chat about the importance of following rules such as being quiet at bedtime.
“Do you know I can hear every word you say over the monitor?” I asked. “So turn off the monitor,” he replied. Impudent brat!
And I’ve considering just letting them blab ‘til they have nothing more to say. But that could go on for hours, and they need their sleep.
After our talk, and my assurance that I was not going to turn off the monitor, I thought we’d be OK for a while. Silly girl. Easy times lasted one night.
Ever seen a movie where people know they’re in a wired room and turn on the water so the bug won’t pick up the conversation? Big Guy hasn’t, but he figured out the trick last night.
After three warnings – My bad. I shouldn’t have backtracked on the single warning – I heard Little Guy singing “Skinamarinky Doo.” Well, as best he can: “Skinawink Doo. Wuv you!” In the background, I heard scrape, scrape, scrape.
I tiptoed outside and peeked in the window. I saw Big Guy pawing the wall. I struggled to quit laughing before I delivered the Death Penalty.
We’ll try again tonight. Because I really want them to have the close sibling bond that comes with sharing a room.
And I want my computer room back.
Copyright 2007 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.