Several years ago, I decided to relinquish my position as bedtime tucker-inner. My rationale was that I'm the mom; I'm with the children all day long; Dad is the dad; he's gone all day long; the children should have a memory of this ritual with their father.So I handed over my bedtime duties to my husband Bo.
I don't know, exactly, how long he has been putting the kids to bed at night, but I do know (please don't be offended, dearest husband) that it has never been a smooth adjustment. Bo just doesn't put the kids to bed the way I do. He doesn't have that bedtime "touch." He isn't ritualistic in that "floating off to sleepytime-land" kind of way.
Now, you might argue that I was spoiled as a child. And you'd be absolutely correct. My father, the same man who dotes on all of the babies in their babyhood, doted on me when I was a wee one. When my father would put me to bed, he would spend a great deal of time putting me to bed. He would tuck me in, and he would tell me stories, and he would play funny games with me, like "Which of these creatures in the bed is my daughter?", kissing each of my stuffed animals as he pretended that they were me and then animatedly realizing his mistake. This could go on for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually, he would put me to sleep somehow, and tiptoe out of my room.
When my mother would put me to bed, she would sing me lullabyes and stroke my eyelids, just below my eyebrows, very lightly with the tip of her finger. I would lie very still, and my challenge was to keep my eyes closed for as long as I could after she'd left, believing that there was some type of magic in her fingertips that would vanish if I opened my eyes.
And while my parents were fabulous at the bedtime routine, there's one thing they never did that I always knew I'd do when I had children--say prayers over them.
Once I had children of my own, bedtime included all manner of ritual. First, a book. Then, a prayer. Then a big hug and a kiss. And sometimes, a visit back to the bedroom to chase away the "monsters."
When Bard was a toddler, the bedtime ritual wasn't complete until she had said, "Don't drop my house!" I would always promise not to drop her house. To this day, neither she nor I have any clue what she meant.
When the children would awake with nightmares or couldn't sleep because of the terrible, scary baddies lurking in the darkness, I would use my "monster spray," a can of air freshener, fitted with a new label proving that it was, indeed, monster spray. I would shake it overdramatically and spray it all over the room, ridding it of monsters.
As they grew a bit older, I had another little trick to chase the baddies away. I would come to the door and tell them to shout the name of Jesus and tell the children to listen closely. If they were very quiet, they would hear the baddies running away. When they hushed, I'd drum my hidden fingers on a doorway or wall, creating the fleeing footsteps of those cowardly critters. They soon grew wise to my little game, but asked me to do it anyway.
If all of this sounds like a lot of work to put a kid to bed, I guess it was. Eventually, I felt that I needed to hand the task over to my husband. But I could never quite let it go. I wanted him to do it like I did. I wanted him to read to them, and joke with them, and scare away the demons for them. But he never quite got the hang of the privilege of being the tucker-inner. Each time he would trot off to do the bedtime routine, he'd return within just a few minutes. I never understood how you could do a good bedtime routine in under five minutes. That's less than a minute per kid, for crying in the mud! Sometimes, he'd just stand in the hallway and pray for them all collectively. Remembering my own childhood bedtimes, I knew that this would never have been sufficient for me. And I was right. It wasn't sufficient for our kids. For the first several months of the transition, they would moan and complain when Dad would put them to bed. They would call for me. Beg for me. But I really felt that Daddy needed to do this. I tried to make suggestions. I encouraged longer bedtime sessions. I even gave him an anthology of stories to read to the younger children. It never really sunk in. And I've always felt that, somehow, I was cheating the kids. And maybe even cheating myself.
I've decided to take my tucker-inner position back.
For the past three nights, I've insisted on a certain bedtime. No yelling or prodding or coercing. If you're in bed, I'll read you a story and/or pray for you. If you're not, I'll hit the sack without tucking you in. It's that simple.
The second night I was on duty, Sweetheart, my seven-year-old daughter, closed her eyes quietly as I prayed for her. I have a certain way I say the prayers, and certain things I always say peppered with requests and thanks that are appropriate for the day. I always ask God to surround their beds with angels to guard and protect them. I always ask for sweet dreams. And I thank God for our home, and our activities that day, and for the child I'm blessing.
When I finished Sweetheart's prayer, she grabbed my face and said, "Now, I want to pray for you."
Let me tell you what it's like to get your socks blessed off.
The prayer began with her thanking God for her "sweet mother," and telling Him how much she appreciates all that her mother does for her, and how hard she works to make a lovely home for all of her children. She asked for God to bless her mother, to give her sweet dreams and to bless her with peace. And then she ended the prayer with words that brought tears to my eyes. She asked God to help her be kind to others, to treat others they way she likes to be treated.
"Thank you, God, for a mother that loves You. Help us all to grow up to love and serve You, too. In Jesus' precious name we pray, Amen."
I will never, ever again give up my tucker-inner duties. There is nothing you could pay me to let them go. You couldn't drag 'em from me with a team of wild horses.
If you haven't done it in a while, go tuck your kids in. It doesn't matter if they're five years old, or fifteen. Ending the day with a comforting word and a reassuring hug is truly relationship-building and serves as a very special ritual for both the tuckee and the tucker, a time to calm fears and heal wounds and offer apology and forgiveness.
And you might just get your socks blessed off, too.
