Bedtime tends to be long at the Mast house. The routine is fairly simple and follows a predictable pattern: PJs --> Potty/Diapers --> teeth brushed --> Bible story --> two songs --> prayer --> a kid's cassette tape --> nightlight --> goodnight kiss. Of course, Dorie has become the master staller. "I'm thirsty, I want the kitty jammies, not the Minnie Mouse ones, I want a different tape, I want another kiss," and (as the door closes, a whisper from the bed) "Daddy, pray that I have good dreams, not bad ones." Sometimes--many times--I long for the days when bedtime won't take an unpredictable 45 minutes.
Lately I've been noticing the way James gets all giggly, goofy, and cuddly in the evening and the way Dorie will flop around in my arms as we sing and the way she takes my cheeks in her small hands when she asks for one more story.
What I really want, more than the ability to say "go to bed" and they are gone, just like that, is to bottle their bedtime into a time capsule and open it up in 10 or 15 years so that I can experience these 45 minutes all over again, exactly the way I do now, every night.
Great is my joy.