When Good Dads Go Bad
When we moved the kids into separate rooms, we moved the bedtime story to the couch. Now, the kids lie on the couch while their mom reads them a story and sings songs, and then they go off to separate rooms.
My routine is different than hers. I do the stories on the couch, with them sitting up. Then they go to their rooms and I give each one a bedtime song separately.
The other night, the kids were really tired when I was putting them to bed. I sat down on the couch, and they both laid down and put their heads on my lap.
“Wait,” I said, pushing them off. “What are you doing?”
My oldest blinked, clearly surprised I wasn’t momma, then started to giggle. “We always do that!”
“With Momma,” I said. “Not me.”
“But we’re tired,” my youngest said, smiling, “we need to lay down.”
I grabbed a couch pillow and put it on my lap. “Okay,” I said. “This time. But this isn’t my thing.”
Giggling contentedly, they stretched out on either side of me, their heads so close together on the pillow that their scalps were almost touching. I recited Good Night Moon.
Then an evil thought swept through me. I don’t know where it came from, or why, but I really couldn’t help myself. I said the last words of Good Night Moon, “goodnight noises, everywhere,” and pushed them off the couch.
They hit the floor with two loud squealing thuds, then sat up, laughing so hard they could barely speak.
“You can’t do that!”
My oldest grabbed a couch cushion. I was laughing too hard to muster a Daddy voice, so I just slipped off my glasses and took the hit.
“Okay,” I said, “you got me. Time for bed.”
The youngest’s face was beet red. “You,” gasp, “pushed,” gasp, “us,” gasp, “off!” He collapsed to the floor, trapped in a full-body laugh.
“Go on,” I said. “Get to bed. I’ll be in to sing in a minute.”
I know, I know. I shouldn’t be pushing my kids off couches, but it sure was fun.