Monday, September 20, 2010

Can't get your kids to bed? Try my solution!

Good night, good night! parting is such
sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

“Mom, do you have to do that? It’s annoying.”

I face my husband, who is absorbed in something internet related at the kitchen counter. “I hear some noise within!” He chuckles and goes back to surfing.
My sons glance at each other over the Wii controllers and roll their eyes. They
ignore my Shakespearian dramatics and pretend they don’t understand that I want them to go to bed. It’s a school night, for heaven’s sake.

            I do beseech thee

            “We just have one more lap,” the older son states, frantically driving the car with his wii-mote. “I keep losing this level, but I know I’m going to win this time. I’m on a roll.”

            His little brother hoots, “You’re not on a roll. You’re on fire!”

            “Sh…” the boy looks over his shoulder at me, “…oot, Mario’s on fire.”

            A thousand times good night!” My voice no longer has the sweet tenor of Juliet’s lingering sigh to Romeo. My apologies, Mr. Shakespeare.

            “Sure, Mom. Just a minute, OK?”

Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d.
Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined.
Harpier cries ‘Tis time, ‘tis time.
I make cauldron stirring motions and cackle wickedly.

            My husband clears his throat. “You boys know she means business when she starts with the witches from Macbeth.”

            “Uh huh,” they answer him absently.

            Macbeth himself now takes the place of the witches, and his voice booms out:
I will be satisfied: deny me this,
And an eternal curse fall on you!

            “It’s not nice to curse,” the younger son points out. “We’re going, all right?”
            “Why can’t she just tell us to go to bed like a normal mom?” they whisper to each other as they drag up the stairs.
I flop down into the chair next to my husband and channel King Lear.
            How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is
To have a thankless child!
My husband claps and whistles. “Another fabulous performance, my love.”

“Thank you, thank you.” I gently wave the back of my hand at my audience, queen style.

“Do you suppose they’re going to remember to brush their teeth?” he asks.

Know that we have divided
In three our kingdom: and 'tis our fast intent
To shake all cares and business from our age;
Conferring them on younger strengths, while we
Unburthen'd crawl toward death. 

“You can’t abdicate the throne,” he protests.

           “Watch me.”


  1. I applaud your literary choices. Although I often try quoting Dr. Seuss it just doesn't do the trick. However, when I start calling the child Bonzo, she does run screaming from the room.