bedtime, a fate worse than death

When bedtime rolls around every night, you would think that I was sending my children off to walk the plank or dragging them straight to the guillotine. There simply cannot possibly be anything worse than going to bed. They might miss something while they sleep--you know, like watching their parents flop onto the couch in exhaustion to watch 30 minutes or so of television before they collapse gratefully into their own bed. Generally bedtime proceeds something like this, although not necessarily always in this order:

• They whine.
• They moan.
• They complain.
• They beg for one more show, one more chapter, or just five more minutes, hoping that I will then forget the dreaded bedtime fate that awaits them. When that fails, they beg dad who seems to be a bit softer in this area.
• They go (or get dragged) upstairs.
• They suddenly remember they haven't practiced the piano or finished their homework or that special project that is due in three weeks or told dad something extremely important, vital even to their very existence, and that they simply must do it now as they will likely never have another opportunity.
• They run.
• They hide (fortunately for me in the same places every time).
• They pretend they never heard anything about putting pajamas on or brushing teeth even though I am certain I've mention it a time or two or perhaps 29 times.
• They put on their pajamas.
• They begin frantically cleaning their room (Sarah) or working on an important project like planning a tea party for next weekend (Sarah) or playing with toys that haven't seen the light of day in months but are suddenly their favorite (Zach).
• They brush their teeth somewhat willingly (Sarah) or when mom holds them down and forces them to (Zach).
• They must go downstairs and find a new book or perhaps 12 to entertain them during the night in case they are unable to fall asleep.
• They must locate their blanket and any special stuffed animal friends who have suddenly (and quite suspiciously) gone missing.
• They say their prayers.
• They read as many books or as many chapters as they can convince me to.
• They need a drink.
• They need someone to lay by them.
• They need the blanket settled over them in just the right way.
• They need the blanket settled over them again as it got wrinkled.
• They need to go to the bathroom.
• They need the blanket AGAIN.
• They need another book because they finished that one.
• They need the hall light on.

And when all the stars line up and they actually hold still for two minutes, they finally fall asleep, and despite their worries, they wake up every morning having survived another night and defeated that dreaded bedtime fate. They are still alive.