- If only 'twer that easy.
So operation NO NEW DEALS has had a glaring set back. Last night the schedule went all to hell. Late getting back from work, picking her up; Jed still in D.C. I could sense the makings of disaster.
Still, bath time should have been a cinch. She didn't require her hair to be washed. It was just a token scrub in warm suds. But she decided to surprise me and wash her own hair. Oh was she pleased with herself. She massaged away at the back of her head like a professional. Before I could stammer a protest, she had created enough foamy goodness there to hide a small treasure trove of toys.
I was truly impressed. But also truly dismayed, knowing that such a frothy mess would have to be rinsed -- the not-so-much-fun part of the shampooing process. It couldn't be avoided, and it threw her into a tizzy.
All roads lead to bedtime, and this was going to block it.
To make matters worse, her teachers at school had given me a book (that I tried to hide from her) called "Mommy, I Want To Sleep in Your Bed," or something or other, that I felt was akin to looking her in the eyes while she's playing happily with safe, respectable toys and instructing her 'Not to pull down the drapes.'
Not only was she NOT thinking of pulling down the drapes, but now that I've told her it's a possible diversion from a tea party with Panda, it seems like an idea that's more fun.
As I suspected, the book taught her the exact phrase -- "But, MOMMY, I WANNA SLEEP in YOOOOOOOOOOOOORR BED!" -- that awoke me at 2:30 in the morning.
I gave in. I was too tired to fight about it.