The fine art of flattery

When we put the boys down at night, we read books and sing lullabies to them. Well, we do that for Wilder. Hunter is often so ready to go to bed that he can't be bothered with our little rituals, pushing the book aside and lunging for the crib. I'm sure that'll change. In the meantime, we do this for Wilder, and he looks forward to it so much that threats of no books or no singing work as great deterrents against any anti-bedtime protests. As in:

"I don't WANNA GO TO SLEEP!"
"Well, OK. But I just won't read you any books."
"OK. I'll go."

He doesn't get the anti-logic of his argument yet, thank goodness.

So, during the day, when he goes down for his nap, I do a little mini-version of bedtime wherein I read him one quick book, turn on his lullabies and leave the room. Today, just now as I put him down for his nap, he asked if I would sing after I read. No, I answered, we only read at naptime. No singing.

"But Mama," he implored, "you're the best singer in the whole world."

Somewhere in Phoenix, my father is reading this and laughing, as he's always been the first person to point out -- insistently, I might add -- that I cannot, in fact, carry a tune.

Still, you gotta give the boy credit for learning the subtleties of fanning a person's ego. It's like those co-workers I used to have that insisted I made better coffee than anyone in the office. I knew they were blowing sunshine up my ass, but I still made the coffee.

For the record, I didn't sing. I'm learning to stand my ground. ;-)