Today, I turned to "Write on Edge" for some inspiration. Their writing prompt this week was to write from the opposite gender's perspective.
I decided to attempt Mazzy's nightly bedtime routine through the eyes of my husband.
It's probably a little unfair and not nearly as comedic as I intended. But since Mike left this evening for a two week business trip to Hong Kong, I thought he deserved a little abuse. (I love you, babe!)
The elevator dinged as it opened on his floor— a ding that signaled "Daddy's home!" to everyone on the other side of his apartment door.
This was his favorite part of the day. He was a hero.
Even before he put the key in the lock, he could hear the sound of frantic footsteps running toward him.
Mike greeted his daughter with a big hug. He was late so he spoke in an overly animated voice to make up for it. "HEY MAZZY! WHAT DID YOU DO TODAY?!"
"It's time to get her ready for bed."
That was his wife. The Bedtime Nazi. She was attempting to organize a pile of toys for which there was no home.
"Let her stay up a little later. I just got here."
"Okay…" she said as she tossed a puzzle piece into a bin of blocks and then grabbed her Kindle on the way to the couch. That was her way of saying, "But then you're putting her to bed…"
He stopped her. "Wait. First I need to put my stuff away, change out of my clothes, go to the bathroom and make a quick phone call."
She stared at him.
"I'll just be a second."
Twenty minutes later, he was back in the living room. Mazzy seemed to be having some sort of meltdown while his wife tried to wrangle her into pajamas.
"What's wrong with her?"
He turned his attention to his daughter. "Hey babe, do you want me to read you some books?"
Crap. He hated Madeline.
He shuffled Mazzy into her room while his wife stationed herself on the living room couch. She smiled in a way that said, "Put her to bed now or else divorce is imminent."
Of course, he had no intention of actually putting his daughter to bed. Mazzy hated going to bed. Why would he do that to her?
Instead, he would play with her in her room, reading books, flipping her upside down, creating voices with her stuffed animals, making her laugh… until his wife came to the door, hands on hips, questioning his very existence.
"What's the problem?" she would say.
"It's almost an hour past her bedtime. Just do it already!"
But then Mazzy would ask her to read a book, she would have no choice but to oblige and then he would have the perfect opportunity to sneak out, eat dinner (he was starving!) and watch TV.
Mommy closed, every night.
Mike liked escaping bedtime unscathed. Always the good guy.
Even if he could still see his wife shaking her head at him through the wall.
NOTE: I feel the need to add one thing even though it doesn't quite mesh with my story. Every night, after the scene above goes down, I call Mike back into the room (per Mazzy's request) and we both sing her a lullaby together as she lays in her crib. We've sang the same song so many times that sometimes Mazzy even sings it with us too. It is by far and away, the best part of my day.