“It’s not bedtime. It’s still early!” Curse these long evenings!
Mini-Me has been growing increasingly difficult to get to bed at the usual time. I find myself, for the first time, cursing the changing of the clocks.
The last few nights were beautiful. The sun was setting behind mountains. The sky was 50 shades of pink. And the daughter was still singing “Let It Go!” at 9.30pm. I tried in vain to explain to her that although it’s still bright outside, it is indeed bedtime.
She was having none of it, until last night.
The debate was becoming quite heated. Her logic was, (obviously!) that it’s not night time yet. How the hell does one argue with that? I was beginning to have visions of her sitting up until all hours, when suddenly the theme music for the 8pm episode of Emmerdale came on the TV.
Madam stopped stomping her foot, looked at the telly and announced “It’s bedtime Mammy. I need Shreddies.”
And so I find that I have finally morphed into my mother.
As kids, the music to Coronation Street was our cue to no longer grace the kitchen.It seems silly, and we often joke about it now as adults, that it frightened the lives out of us! How ridiculous that was. How ridiculous.
Except it’s not that ridiculous. I finally understand. I never realized that it marked the one time of the day where Mother Dearest could make a cup of tea (which she’d actually finish), collapse on the sofa, and grab a fleeting moment of quiet and escapism after the chaos of the day. (Before getting back up to prepare uniforms and lunches and do washing etc afterwards!)
And so, if this music is going to mark bedtime for my “genius but not quite aware of time yet” daughter, then by golly, I am going to jump on that train!
And whether it takes me to the Dales, or to the Cobbles is irrelevant, as long as it acts as a bedtime marker, I’m as happy as a character in a Soap Opera!
I am Soap Mum.