Apparently there’s a shorthand language spoke in our home that isn’t spoken at my brother’s home.
His children stayed overnight Friday so he and his wife could celebrate their anniversary. His five children were wonderful guests, keeping my brood thoroughly entertained for most of the evening.
An amazing thing happens when company comes over. Suddenly, all the die-hard rules in the house fall down. There’s food in the living room. Drinks find their way into bedrooms. Shoes fall where they may. Cats and dogs live together in harmony.
Then we hit that magical point in the evening (from an adult’s perspective, at least) where I had the distinct privilege of saying the words, “It’s time for bed now.”
My children know what those words mean. First, it’s time for them to grumble and ask for a few more minutes. Then, it’s time for them to surrender and head to their rooms to change into pajamas. Next up is a trip to the bathroom to use the facilities and brush their teeth. Finally, they should return to their bedrooms, climb into bed and fall asleep.
That’s what “it’s time for bed now” means in my house, at least most nights.
When you’re watching someone else’s kids, though, you realize there’s a lot more ambiguity in it than you think. I suspect my children must find that same vagueness in it when they’re visiting friends and relatives overnight too, since they seemed to need pinpoint accuracy on exactly what we wanted done.
The first time I said it, they basically ignored the declaration. When I repeated it, they seemed to think I’d introduced a controversial measure to the U.S. House floor that was destined for a veto, as they pretty much ignored it.
On the third try, they decided to cave to my demand. Thus they headed to their respective sleeping quarters. They proceeded to play there, encouraging my children to do the same. And, when given the choice to do what they knew I meant or play, they accepting playing as the wiser choice.
That’s when I realized how specific I needed to be. Shorthand would not do any longer. If I wanted them to put on pajamas, I’d better say they should wear pajamas. If I wanted them to visit the facilities, I’d best mention that directly. If I wanted them to brush their teeth, I’d better say they should brush their teeth. And, after all that, if I really wanted them to lay down and fall asleep, that’d better be a direct order too.
I wasn’t wise enough to address these in the proper order. So instead, our combined gang of children ran around the house, resembling a Scooby Doo cartoon chase as they ducked in and out of rooms to avoid capture by the spooky monster (me, in this case). They would’ve gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for us meddling parents.
We finally got them to settle down and sleep a little bit before Friday became Saturday but at least an hour later than the process had started. By that point, I realized I was more ready to go to bed than any of them were, abandoned the moral high ground and fell asleep myself.
And I didn’t need any specific requests to make that happen.
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