Night time

Night time is a ritual. Rituals create images of cults. Although this is not a cult, the amount of planning, orchestration and compliance that is involved is borderline.

We are streamlining the procedure. Procedure sounds better than ritual. They're synonyms. The procedure, currently can take up to two hours. Starting with bath, then naked run around time, then book time, then song time, then potty time, then story in bed time, then potty time, then potty time, then potty time, then walk to bed, then climb into bed and out of bed and into bed, then hold onto animals time, followed by a kick off of the blanket, then blanket reapplication with repositioning of animals followed by drink, followed by kisses, followed by reapplication of blanket and animals, next drink, then out of the room to quickly return for one last drink.

It is getting shorter. Truthfully, now, the longest part is potty, but who wants to rush sitting on the potty. A particularly difficult part of the evening is that Tahlia no longer needs light in her room. Mommy and Daddy do; she doesn't. Therefore, there is no night-light; all lcd lights are covered; the door is closed; if our watches glowed, there would be restrictions. Because of how dark it is, sometimes my hand sneaks up on me and smacks me in the face when I'm not looking. Somehow, she manages. One particularly difficult acrobatic move used to be that she needed us to give her kisses in specific locations on her face. She would point profusely to varying locations. If one was to kiss one millimeter to the left or the right, she would repeat her directions, becoming increasingly incised to state, "No, there." Although one would believe the kiss was already administered in the correct locale, one was incorrect. This aspect of the evening has ended. Kisses are still administered, but in small quantities, without direction. We now let her know which will be the last kiss, and stick to that. Prior to this omission, as you would leave, she would begin saying statements like, "Love you Daddy." To which, any sane being would respond," Love you Tahlia." Unfortunately, this was the wrong answer, quickly receiving the message, a little louder, a little more like a category one hurricane that you hope won't become a five, but the winds seem a little too strong, " Love you Daddy." After several attempts, we were left only with stating the script to Tahlia: "I'm going to say 'Goodnight Tahlia.' You will say 'Good night Mommy/Daddy.' I'm going to leave." This would work until one of us mistakenly, wanting the last word, would say "Love you Tahlia." We realized, after several nights, that the true response to "Love you Daddy," is "Love you Daddy." Who would have thought it that simple.

But as she quickly grows, it seems that the little being who can easily crawl up in your lap and make herself no larger than a red playground ball, will quickly flee away from us, helping us realize that even in these ritualistic pursuits, we must hold onto these moments that flee and fly from us as they soon will be no more.