Mommy non grata

Well, it's finally happened. I have been kicked to the curb (specifically, at bedtime), and Daddy has taken my place. Who knew a 3-year-old could hurt your feelings so badly you'd cry?

Up until a few months ago, I was No. 1--and by all rights, I should still be No. 1. Nate may take Evan to play soccer and "run fast" on the football field at the playground, but he doesn't stop for milkshakes before coming home. So why has Evan suddenly decided that I'm not allowed to snuggle next to my two best guys in bed and read/listen to books, or hear his bedtime prayer? I suppose I can understand the prayer to some extent...Nate taught it to him, so yes, okay, that's their thing. Fine. But starting about two months ago, I was abruptly put on the Bedtime Banned List. I am no longer allowed to read "Grover Sleeps Over" (or any other book, for that matter). And dang it, I deserve to read "Grover Sleeps Over." I read it every night (and every afternoon) for almost an entire year. I know exactly what Grover packs in his little plaid suitcase; I know exactly which jammies he takes to Betty Lou's house, and I know exactly what games they play and what they eat for dinner and breakfast. And now I'm not allowed to so much as sit on the edge of my very own bed and listen to Nate read Evan a book?

I slept foot-to-face on the couch with Evan for more than three months last year; I slept (if you can call it that) on the edge of his extra-long twin bed--often in my clothes, all night long--for more than six months after that. Usually with at least five stuffed animals, three cars, a plastic cow, a small iron tractor (hay baler optional), and a Sesame Street lunchbox. The spine of "Grover Sleeps Over" has been Scotch-taped. Twice. And this is the thanks I get? No wonder some species eat their young.

It's not just that he asks me to leave--he tells me. Not only that, he specifically tells me where to go: "Go sit at computer." Granted, yes, most nights I'm on the computer, but it's not taking my time away from him. Still, just hearing that he thinks I should be on the computer instead of reading him books like I have every night for the past 3 years makes me feel awful. Each time he's told me to leave over the past few months, I've lightly laughed, kissed him and his puppy anyway, complied, and left...okay, so I stand outside the door and listen to him say his bedtime prayer. Then I leave to go answer e-mails, read, watch Emma or Law & Order: SVU on the DVR, and eat pickles and pretzels before sneaking in at 1 a.m. to carry Evan to his own bed and flip my pillow to the non-drool side.

But tonight I threw a fit to equal his and saucily told him no, I wasn't going anywhere; the computer's not working. (Okay, so I lied.) His reply? "Go watch TV." SERIOUSLY? You want to talk about tearing up...I was heart-broken.

So I tried a little reverse bribery. I said, "Fine. If you don't let me read you a book, I'm not going to take you to the museum tomorrow like I promised. How about that?" He grinned and said, "Okay!"

"Seriously," I said, "I will NOT take you to the museum tomorrow...we will NOT go unless you let me stay. Got it?"

"Okay!"

Ack. Therein lies the problem of a child who doesn't even know when he's being punished.

Defeated, I decided to suck it up and head on out to the couch, where Evan so badly wanted me to go. (It's Tuesday, and a new episode of Chopped is on tonight, so I would have ended up watching TV before bed, anyway.) But before I slunk away like a whipped puppy, I gave him a kiss. He kissed me back, then said, "Hug!" We hugged, and then I had to kiss and hug his stuffed puppy (the one bedtime ritual that hasn't changed). Then, just to be sure, I asked, "You love me?" And Evan looked up at me, wrapped his arms around my neck, and said, "Yeah. We're buddies." He's never said anything like that.

Tears again. But this time they were very, very happy ones.

And in case I forgot to mention, since Evan's been going to bed with Nate, he's asleep by 10:30 most nights. (What's that old saying..."There's no loss without some small gain.") Which equals *me* time before bed, Daddy-son bonding, sleep for everyone, and buddies all around.

Win, win, win, win. Maybe this new routine isn't so bad, after all.