Bed time can best be described by Charles Dickens as “the best of times…the worst of times.”  There’s a soothing peace that rests over our house as we read books to our girls or hold them close and sing in softened tones.  The gentility of the falling night is surpassed only by the sereneness of putting their tired, soft bodies into the bed.  On the other hand, there’s a violent eruption of anger as we chase Ladybug down to get her into her pajamas.  There’s strife and tension as we put lotion on Butterfly and brush both girls’ teeth.  One night can be so rough and nerve-wracking while another can be so soothing and restful.

Last night was both.  I stayed at church late for a meeting and came home just in time to help with bedtime. I climbed the stairs to find Butterfly sitting in her mother’s lap and being read a story.  Ladybug was wearing nothing but a diaper and went running by.  A soft, blonde blur caught the corner of my eye.  Almost immediately, she knew what was coming.  Without me even saying a word, she ran to a different room and yelled “No, Daddy.  No go bed!”  It went downhill from there.

Ladybug protested every step in our process.  “No change diaper!”  “No pajamas on me!”  “No want it, shirt on!”  I got her dressed, put her on the floor to finish her award-winning performance, and then sat on the floor.  Within 30 seconds, the crying had stopped and she was standing by my side with her head on my shoulder.  The demands of her way yielded a soft request, “Daddy sit rocking chair.  Read books?”

After the books were read and the lights were dimmed, I rocked Ladybug and sang various lullabyes (lullabies?) in varying keys (I’m such a good singer that one key cannot contain me...even in one song).  She rolled over in my lap so that she was facing me.  Gently, she leaned up and gave me a kiss on my cheek, and then relaxed her head on my chest.  The fury of her storm had given way to the melodic rhythm of the rocking chair.