Send Us Quiet Sleep

I had always pictured putting my children to bed as a relaxing, peaceful time to reflect on the day and bond with them. That was before I actually had children. The before bed routine is the busiest 45 minutes of the day: changing diapers, brushing teeth, reading books, refilling humidifiers, setting sound machines (my attempt to keep the others asleep if/when one of them wakes up crying), saying prayers, and don’t forget the last minute water/bathroom/Kleenex runs.

Inevitably, we need to leave our four year old unsupervised for a few moments each evening. She is told to relax, read books, or play with her mermaid dolls in her room. Naturally, the temptation to leave her room and get into something forbidden often is too great.

Last night toward the end of the bedtime “routine”, I discovered in our bedroom, between the bassinet and our bed, a little stash on the floor. My husband’s flashlight from his nightstand. My tube of hand cream. Surrounded by a mound of little shredded wrappers. The work of a little mouse. And this mouse had a name.

“Alita??” I called. Finally I located her, and led her up to the stash. “Were you playing with Daddy’s flashlight, Mommy’s cream, and eating Daddy’s life savers?” She just looked down at the pile, and sighed. I explained again that she is not to touch any of it, and especially not Daddy’s life savers. Since he has Type 1 diabetes, he keeps them in his nightstand drawer in case his blood sugar dips during the night.

Well, to make the next 30 minutes short, she never apologized to Daddy, received a punishment, and was lying in her dollhouse bed for the night, hands folded to say her nightly prayer. Normally Dad prays with her while I nurse #3, but tonight I was with her.

Before launching into her usual bedtime prayer, I started by saying, “Dear Jesus, please forgive the sins we have done today. Thank you for dying on the cross [this part she repeats with me because it is recited every children’s message at church] to take away my sins, so I can go to heaven.” I paused, and could see the concern on her face.

“Mom, when will he do mine?”

“Do what?”

“Take away mine.”

I smoothed unruly bangs against her forehead. “He already has. On the cross.”

“Oh!” She sighed again, this time a sigh of relief.

“It’s a good feeling, isn’t it?”

She nodded.

“Makes you want to try not to do it again, doesn’t it?”

She nodded again. “Because he taked my sin away.”

“He’s taken away mine, too.”

Will bedtime ever be peaceful and relaxing, as I used to envision? Probably not. But, thank you, God, for giving us the peace we need.