Dear mom,

We need to talk because there is something that has been bothering me for quite a while now. Believe it or not, I am three years old and clearly wise WAY beyond my years. So, here it goes.

This going to bed at 8:00 p.m. thing is really getting old, and quite frankly, it sucks…and you make me do it every single day.

Each night, I am happily playing, singing, and emptying out the contents to everything I can get my hands throughout the entire house…and then you do it. You say those four dreaded words. “It’s time for bed.” You know the moment I hear those God-awful words I lose all control. The crying and yelling starts, the throwing toys begins, and I flop around on the floor like a fish out of water. So, why do you say it? Why, mama? It is not like the way I am acting proves to you that I am tired and it is time.

 

 

It seems to me that I should be able to stay up as late as I want. I mean, you do. You don’t have to go to bed when it is still light out. You don’t have to stop making a mess and go upstairs. Don’t you see that I am a busy kid? I have stuff to do. Important stuff that you obviously don’t understand. Stuff like filling up purses with cards and dumping out all the pieces to games; Or shoving all the blocks under the chair in the corner; Or emptying out all the items in the art cupboard and scattering the capless markers throughout the house; Or even taking out all the mixing bowls and spatulas and making soap soup. This stuff really can’t wait until morning. Don’t you see? My work is not to be interrupted.

As if that is not bad enough, when you do finally coerce me upstairs and force me to put on pajamas and we play all the games to get me into bed, you still get mad when I get out of bed and come downstairs 100 times. I don’t get it. You say good night as if we won’t talk again until morning. That’s a good one, mom. Needing a band aid, wanting to talk about my day, needing all the Barbie dresses, and wanting to talk about the cat’s food are all perfectly good reasons to get up out of bed. I mean, seriously. How do you not see this?

So, mom and dad, the buck stops here. The madness needs to end. Bedtime needs to be on my terms going forward. Mmmmmmmm K?

Love,

Your Angel

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