Addie has a painfully predictable bedtime routine. Every night is bath, 3 books, a story that we make up together, and then "talking about our day." This is all great, really, because it gives us time to unwind together at the end of the day, and eases her into bed nicely, predictably.
We've been trying some variations on the routine lately, mostly because the monotony is making me want to poke my own eyes out. When I say "variations," I mean that rather than strictly "talking about our day," for example, I might ask her what she wants to talk about. My hope is that this will generate some sort of conversation between the two of us, rather than me just rattling off everything we did over the previous sixteen hours.
But my hopes, unfortunately, are not being realized. Instead, this is happening:
"Addie, what do you want to talk about?"
"Again? I don't really want to talk about that again."
"I want to talk about the broken thing."
"The broken thing on the fan? No--let's talk about something else. Can you think of something else?"
"The crack? The one in the wall? Again? I think we said everything we needed to say about the crack last week."
"I waaaaant to taaaalk about the craaaaaaaaaack!"
Okay, okay. So we talk about the crack in the wall again. A scintillating bonding experience. And, clearly, this discussion of all the things that are falling apart around us is not settling her into sleep very well. Tonight she was wailing and banging on the door to be let out of her room, and when I asked her what was wrong, she said she didn't want her flower blanket on her bed anymore.
"Why, honey? You love that flower blanket."
"It's, it's, it's TOO FLOWERY!"
Ah, I love the bedtime routine.