Recently, I was chatting with a few friends who also happen to be avid readers of this blog. Like me, they are devout fans of the Ava-isms of my daughter. Amid much laughter and head-shaking, we were reminiscing about various statements that had come from her mouth, some stealthily, some adorably, and some UNABASHEDLY BRAZENLY. It was at this moment that one of these friends reminded me of a declaration that—for whatever reason—did not make it onto the website. In fact, I believe this particular event occurred pre-blog.
Friend: You HAVE to write about that one time, Lori!
Me: What? And admit that myself and my daughter aren’t perfect? ARE YOU CRAZY?
Friend: It is hands-down the funniest thing she has ever said. COME ON!
Despite my parental embarrassment at this particular Ava-ism, I cannot deny that it is the funniest darn story from her repertoire. Furthermore, I will admit that my response to it was immediate and unsquealchable laughter.
So here it is, for your reading pleasure:
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Imagine, if you will, the most sleepless night of your life. One rife with ticking clocks, barking dogs, and heavy eyelids. One where you toss and turn, your mind riddled with senseless thoughts, the temperature in the room either too cold or too warm. You can’t get comfortable. You can’t slip into blessed dreamland.
Oops, I’m sorry, this is not a story about a sleepless night. It’s a story about a SLEEPLESS TODDLER. Unless you have personally experienced the vast difference between these two affairs, you will never understand the motivation behind this story. NEVER. It’s not your fault, of course, but still….NEVER!
Here’s the situation. Ava was having trouble settling down for the night—a school night, I might add. While my husband blissfully dozed in the next room, I was performing a desperate bedtime-sleep-inducing-tap-dance in Ava’s bedroom. For a warm-up, we read a pile of books the approximate height of our neighbor Bill’s two-story home. We spent long, loving minutes selecting the perfect stuffed animal to accompany her to dreamland. Then we dimmed the lights and cuddled together in her small toddler bed.
When none of these entrapments worked, Ava suggested watching a movie, so I caved. We enjoyed approximately ninety minutes of Bee Movie. It was then that I sensed she had finally slipped off to sleep. Ever so gently, I pried myself away from her warm, snuggly body. Without a whisper, I delicately rearranged her princess blanket. In the darkened room, I unearthed the remote and turned off the television. The thrill of success warred with the overpowering weariness of a wife/mother/teacher at the end of a long day. Tiptoe by tiptoe, I began the short trek to my own warm bed.
Then from behind me….
Ava: Where are you going?
Mommy: Me? TO BED! Like any normal person at 1:00 A.M.!
Ava (sighing heavily): Can we please watch my unicorn movie? Then I’ll go to bed.
It was at this point a wild roaring erupted somewhere in the middle of my brain. I don’t remember exactly what I did; I only know that I ended up in my own bedroom and had apparently woken up Erik, who was staring groggily at me.
Daddy: What’s going on?
Mommy: She’s still awake! At 1:00 A.M.! We read books! We snuggled! We watched Bee Movie! She’s still awake!
I took a deep breath. I stared into my husband’s bleary eyes—eyes that had previously been closed in blissful sleep. I heard a buzzing chorus of Mommy-Mommy-Mommy from the next room. And, I’m afraid, I lost it a bit.
Mommy: AND NOW SHE WANTS TO WATCH THAT F!&#%ING UNICORN MOVIE!
Then, from behind me, came a flurry of little feet. A warm, very awake body slammed into my pajama-clad legs. A furious little voice rose above mine.
Ava: No, Mommy! It’s not F!&#%ING unicorn movie! It’s HAPPY unicorn movie!
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True story, I SWEAR.
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