My Bedtime Routine
Do you think it involves candles and a pre-sleep ritual? Bahahahahahahahahahaha
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Due to the overwhelming popularity of my morning routine posts I figured I might as well share with you the chaos and absolute madness that is just about every night at my house.
The common theme here is that I try. I try real hard. And sometimes it all goes to shit.
Our nighttime routine starts around 5 when I finish work. I come downstairs to whatever wreckage my children have wrought since getting home from school and try to figure out what to have for dinner.
This is complicated.
We have a seven-year old who only eats three things—noodles, chicken nuggets and pizza. Then we have two parents trying to maintain the middle-aged high protein diet (eating protein is essentially our part-time jobs right now), we have one voracious eater and a toddler who will sometimes eat everything and sometimes eat nothing.
We end up cooking pasta with some kind of meat in it A LOT. As much as I try to meal plan and as much as I save all of Caro Chambers recipes, Nick and I are both so tired by the end of the day that we opt for something easy, familiar and inoffensive to everyone.
And that is OK. We try our best.
We do try to all sit down at the dinner table together every night. I don’t know how much anyone appreciates this to be honest. The other night we did end up sitting on the couch while we ate and watched a movie because it was just more comfortable. To be honest I usually feel like I’m carrying the conversation at dinner time.
Tell me about your day.
What did you like today?
What did you hate?
Did anyone see anything weird happen?
I’m sure this will evolve as they get older and I am still convinced I should be modeling dinner conversation for the entire family. One thing that helps is sometimes we do trivia or word teasers at the dinner table and this can be quite fun.
Although I have to say I was pleasantly surprised last night when one child volunteered that their music teacher was out because he had a new baby and the other told me they pooped their pants because they thought it was a fart. This led to a rollicking discussion of both paternity leave and the dangers of aggressive farts.
