Bitching

Hello,

I attended the Sunday 1:00 pm performance of the Wizard of Oz at the Opera House.I bought four tickets and attended with my daughter, a friend, and her daughter. The tickets were $119 and we were seated in the orchestra, row u, seats 105,106,107,108. We experienced two problems:

Handicapped seats were placed on both ends of our row. Both patrons were unable to stand once seated. This forced us to awkwardly crawl over an elderly lady to enter our seats and at intermission, even at the end of the show. Surely there must be a better solution?

Also, at intermission we went directly from our seats to the women's restroom. Nevertheless, my daughter and friend (who needed the facilities) were unable to do so in time. They missed two major musical scenes because of the long lines or lack of suitable women's restrooms. This is infuriating. After spending nearly $500 on tickets, I feel this is an unacceptable way to treat a patron. Especially a nine-year-old girl.

Many thanks for your attention,

Janet Kelley

perspective

There are two parenting styles at the playground. One views a slide as uni-directional. The other style is espoused by a parent whose kid challenges such one-way linear thinking.

My kid proved today that there is more than one way to shimmy down a fire pole.

#videobyhissister
#letthemfail(fall)
#blesshissoul

#passthewine

Parent Child Interview

I asked Izabella and Leo a series of questions that were part of a Facebook meme. Here is the result:

Izabella, 7 (almost 8)

1. What is something I always say to you? I love you.
2. What makes me happy? clowns
3. What makes me sad? Leo hitting me.
4. How do I make you laugh? putting on my clown costume or saying a funny joke
5. What was I like when I was a child? like a clown
6. How old am I? 41
7. How tall am I? 228 cm
8. What is my favorite thing to do? go shopping
9. What do I do when you're not around? go shopping
10. What am I really good at? funniness or shouting at Leo
11. What is something I'm not good at? bicycling
12. What do I do for a job? write books
13. What is my favorite food? rice casserole
14. What do you enjoy doing with me? cuddle

Leo (6 ½)

1. What is something I always say to you? Isn’t it a beautiful day? Or, I love you.
2. What makes me happy? When I am really nice and not fussing and I don’t eat with my hands
3. What makes me sad? If I hit you or I am angry or I hate you or say I don’t love you
4. How do I make you laugh? Saying funny jokes and tickling me
5. What was I like when I was a child? nice
6. How old am I? 42
7. How tall am I? How would I know?
8. What is my favorite thing to do? go outside and have fresh air, cuddle
9. What do I do when you're not around? go shopping, clean the house
10. What am I really good at? Cleaning the house, loving people, being nice, being cute
11. What is something I'm not good at? Lego
12. What do I do for a job? Write a book and take care of us and I think you said you are a teacher
13. What is my favorite food? French fries
14. What do you enjoy doing with me? Cuddling, go shopping

Iza was then inspired to write her own original interview questions for me:

1.Mia kedvenc színed? blue
2.Hány barátod van? 3
3.Hány éves vagy ha 10 évet elveszel? 31
4.Hány éves vagy ha 10 évet hozáadsz? 51
5.Hány gyereked van? 2
6.Hány éves vagy? 41
7.Hányadik osztályban vagy? :)
8.Van 5 almám megetem 2 vásárolok még 2 hány almám van? 5!
9.Mikor születél? November 18, 1974
10.Mia kedvenc éneked? Happy Birthday
11.Mia kedvenc élményed? skydiving with Jason
12.Hol születél? Hutchinson, KS, USA
13.Mia neved? Janet Kay Francesca Kelley
14.Kia kedvenc barátod? Debbie
15.Kika barátaid? Debbie, Akesha, Ashley, Jason
16.Hány éves vagy ha 10+1 évet elveszel? 30
17.Van 6 kutyám 3 kutyám vetem még 1 kutyát hány kutyám van? 9
18.Van 9-3 db gojom kaptam még 6+9 db gojot hány gojom van? 21
19.😀+😄=? Happy!
20.🎁+💖=? Birthday

Gender Tales: Pink Tax in Budapest

Hold on, I will get to the Pink Tax.

When my daughter started first grade in Budapest in 2014 there was a steep learning curve for both of us.  My expectations about the first-day experience were not met and I was I was deeply shocked by what I considered to be profoundly misguided traditions inconsiderate of children's needs when entering the care of a new school and a new teacher.

Over time I developed a love-hate relationship with the system. No school is perfect. But those striving toward perfection earn my respect. I worry about a system that doesn't seem self-aware, self-critical, or open to the changing needs of its population. However, it should be noted there is a growing teacher rebellion against the nationwide reforms imposed three years ago. The movement is worth your attention and support. Teachers are revolting and parents are revolting by turning away from the public system to open independent new schools.

Back to my local school and my kids. I think it is fair to say that a public school is a perfect microcosm of its culture. (And this will lead me to the Pink Tax, pinkie-swear.)

My current analysis of Hungary is that at the center of its cultural identity is this word:  Tradition. My theory about America is that its central word is:  Independence. These words function in ways that are fascinating to explore and tease out from the news and the arts. These identity tags function.

At the center of the Hungarian school is the notion of tradition with a capital T.

One example of this is the required sports class and its requisite uniform. I was instructed at the parent's meeting to purchase for my daughter a "torna ruha," white socks, and gym shoes with white soles. I get the gym shoes requirement, as it keeps the floors clean.

My first task was to understand "torna ruha." It translates to "gym clothes." However, in the Hungarian tradition (Tradition), this means the girls wear a leotard and the boys wear gym shorts and a white t-shirt. In a classroom of thirty kids they all strip down to their Star Wars skivvies and put on the gym uniform. Right away this signals the gym class is not a play class but a workout. Physical fitness is another lesson, as rigorous as math or reading. I have theories about this too. Seriously, how effective can that be? I know my husband learned to skip gym classes as soon as possible when growing up in a Hungarian school system. But let me stay focussed on the Pink Tax. We are getting there.

After much discussion about the gender imbalance related to requiring girls to wear body-revealing leotards while boys wear comfortable sports clothes, I dutifully went to the sports store. I had resigned to buy my daughter the leotard as well as the shorts and t-shirt. I would pack both and let her decide what worked best for her.

I found the display for the gym clothes. And there it was: The Pink Tax. The leotard cost 2,999 forint (about 10 dollars), which is not cheap. The shorts and the t-shirt combined cost 2,789.  A lesson in the marketplace before the first day of school: It is expensive to be a girl and have the "right" outfit! Granted, the price was only slightly more for the girl outfit. But there it is. Not only does the Tradition expect her to wear a body-revealing costume, it expects her to pay more for it (for less material).

It still makes my blood boil, roiling with pink bubbles of indignation.

#worldwidepinktax
#ugh
#gendertales
#budapest


FYI: More on the pink tax:  http://time.com/4159973/women-pay-more-everything/

Let her Live her Life

Pamela Druckerman first introduced me to the idea of sleep-away camp for nursery school children in her book about raising kids in Paris, Bringing up Bebe. French parents routinely send their little ones off for a week in nature with their nursery school teachers. This concept was new and shocking to me, as it was to Druckerman. She didn't dare send her little one. I just put mine on the bus. And I feel good about it.  I am confidant that she will be fine. More than fine.
 

***

Iza left on the bus for camp this morning. Today it is Saturday. She will return on Thursday. She has never slept a single night away from home without me. When my husband is out of town (he spends every other month in America) she and her brother bedshare with me. What I told her:

I love you.

Have fun. 

It will be six days, five nights.

What she asked in the past several weeks:

How will she get her meals?

Who will she sleep with?

I told her that I would call her at least once per day. (This is a rule set by the teachers). She pointed out, “But, mama, I don’t have a phone.” I explained that I would call her teacher and the teacher would let her use her phone.

We were instructed to write five postcards. They will have a mail delivery each day and read the cards to the kids. I labored over the postcards.  It was an intensely emotional writing task. I drew several little lopsided hearts, a few ice-cream cones, even a little crooked rainbow. 

I also prepared a collage of family photographs for her to keep under her pillow.  I printed off several photos and laminated them.  The teachers had asked us to provide one family photo.  The truth is that we don't seem to have a photo with all of us.  So I made a collage.  Lamination was the natural finishing touch.  It will withstand rips and pillow drool.

We were also instructed to make a plastic bag for each day with an outfit inside. I found purple bags. I cut out little paper hearts and labeled each bag with her name and a number for each day.

When she saw the size of her suitcase, she said, “How will I carry that?” I assured her that the teachers would take care of it. (I didn’t have a smaller-sized bag to use.)
 

***

What I said to her as we stood in an excited crowd of parents and children on a busy Budapest street:

I love you.

Have fun.

If they have ice-cream everyday, that is okay. Enjoy it! (Normally we limit treats to Saturdays.)

If you need anything, ask your teacher.
 
What I didn’t say:

Brush your teeth.

Use sunscreen!

Wear clean underwear.

Don’t be afraid to flush the toilet in public restrooms. 

Listen to your teachers.

Behave. Be nice. 

Brush your unruly wild abundance of a tangled horse mane in the morning, for the love of god.  Wear a barrette to hold back your bangs so that they can grow out gracefully.  

***

Leo, who has never been separated from her for a single night in his life after he come home from the hospital, buried his head in her shoulder.

Iza said, “I love you.”

Leo said, “I love you.”

Iza said, “I need to go now.” Her voice was suddenly maternal, gentle but firm. The decision to take the trip had already empowered her before she said a final goodbye.

She boarded the enormous white bus. We waved furiously at the big windows where their heads barely cleared the lower sill. We didn’t see her, but we waved and blew kisses. Then it was time to let Leo cry on my shoulder before the walk home to a quiet house.

Good Question

Iza, who is six years old, "Is pain made out of water?"

Fish Hearts

Iza, eating sardines:   Mom, I have a really hard question for you.

Me:  Okay.  What is it?

Iza:  Do fish have hearts?

Izabella at 6

What is your favorite day?

Úszás nap



What is your favorite cake:

Lúdláb



What is your favorite park?

Károlyi Kért



What is your favorite food?

Ice-cream



What is your favorite activity?

Aerobik



What is your favorite film?

Cinderella



Who are your friends?

Zsófi and Isa



If you could go any place in the world, where would you go?

Japan, where sushi is



What is your favorite color?

Purple. All the colors of rainbow. Not grey, and brown



What is your favorite flower?

Dandelions



What will you be when you grow up?

Úszó tanár

What is Cool?

Iza: Mom, I want cool socks.

Me: How about these?

Iza: Those are NOT cool.

Me: (Ack.)

Me: (light bulb)

Me: Do you mean thin socks instead of warm winter ones?

Iza: Yes, cool socks.

By the numbers

Lenard
height:  41 inches, 52% (104 cm)
weight: 37.5 pounds, 56% (17 kilos)
BMI: 15.7, 54%
shoe: 29


Izabella
height:  47 inches, 92% (120 cm)
weight:  57 pounds, 95% (25.8 kilos)
BMI:  18.2, 94%
shoe:  32

Leo's Three-Year Check Up

Leo:
31.5 pounds, 38 inches

Iza:
45 pounds, 43.5 inches

Numbers

Izabella at Four Years

Height  41.5 inches  83%
Weight  41.25 pounds 87%
BMI 16.9  86%
Blood Pressure 111/88 (Right arm, sitting)

Fall Numbers

Izabella:

3 years, 7 months
wt  37
ht 40.25

Lenard:

2 years, 2 months
wt 28.5
ht 35.25

And Then

And then Leo stepped off the curb.

I reached for him, grabbed his arm. I pulled him back and then

I jumped in front of the car to push it away from him.

And then I thought:  it's okay that I have my hands pressed into the grill. when I hit the pavement bones and muscles might give way.  A second birth.  And then

I screamed, My Baby, My Baby, My Baby.

His nose was bleeding, he cried.

I shouted, Leo too? The car, Leo too?  (In broken Hungarian)

I knew the car hit me (or I hit the car). I wanted to know if the car hit Leo.

No one could say. Or would say.

I sat on the curb. Leo sat upright in my lap, heart to heart. His blood soaked my shirt.

I reached for Iza.  She came and stood next to my, stroking my back.  She took care of me. (That's not her job.) She never cried.

Later a witness said the car's front tire hit Leo in the head.

And then the ambulance came. The police.

There was no fault. Except mine, of course. I am the mother.

It is my job to keep them alive, 
at minimum.

The driver:  a young man in a suit. Two other young men in the car, wearing suits. I didn't say a word to them. I wish I would've told them they weren't to blame.
I worry about them too.

People rushed to the scene:  A woman with a child on her hip, a nurse from high school next door, several men. There was shouting and silence. Someone offered me water. 
I refused, but then directed them to pour it over Leo's finger.  It poured over his raw flesh. Iza quickly pointed out that the water was spilling. This part of the story she always repeats, 
when the water spilled.

I took Leo's finger, his right index finger, bloodied, and put it in my mouth.  
I sucked it clean. I was calm.

In the ambulance they bandaged my scrapes, but never examined me. They felt Leo's head, but never took off his shoes or clothes to look for wounds.  Later I will see his elbow is scraped raw.

And then, sitting in the ambulance, the police asked my name.  Janet Kelley, or Kelley Janet?  (In Hungarian they say the family name first.)  Birthdate?  11/18 or 18/11?  (In Hungary they offer the day first, then the month.)  In my head I shout:  absurdity!  who the fuck cares!  Drive us to an x-ray machine!

Laszlo had left that morning for Zurich.  I had no cash, no phone (it was in the apartment), and no passport.  I didn't know our street address.  I knew the street, but not the house number.

And then the ambulance was driving quietly, sedately through tree-lined Budapest avenues toward a hospital.  Leo fell asleep in my arms.  I checked to see he was breathing.  

The x-ray technician was hostile, to say the least.  She wanted me to hold Leo a certain way and I didn't understand.  And then when I did understand, I tried to say I couldn't hold his face that way because my hand was in pain. Her response, if you don't do it we can't take the x-ray.  

So what is a little more pain?

The x-ray showed no damage to the bone. And they released us. We took a taxi home, no car seats.

The accident happened at noon. We were home by two.

And then, lunch as usual.

And then

I pulled Leo back. I felt him slip from my grasp. 
I jumped in front of the car. You know, to stop it.

I walked away. Leo walked away.

Izabella watched the entire event from the curb. This terrifies me.

And then, again, Iza asks, "Do you wanna tell about it?  Accident?  When the car came?"

I am convinced the car didn’t hit Leo.  I am sure his head injury was caused when I pulled him back and he fell down on the street.

I almost wish I had a broken bone.

And then I was waiting in front of the nursery's large wooden door on a narrow street in Budapest, close to the castle. It was noon. Clear, sunny fall day. The children raced down the sidewalk as they returned from the park. I was there to pick up Iza and Leo. It was their third morning in the nursery. I brought them at ten and then 
was supposed to return at noon.  Two hours. And then

a woman in a car was waving hello (or asking if she could park?) and

then we were all saying hellos--six kids, two teachers, and myself.  
And I hugged and kissed my kids

and then there was small talk or not and hungry kids ready to go inside to lunch and naps and then

Leo stepped off the curb.

"Do you wanna talk about it? Accident?"

Yes, I do. As many times as you do, Iza. And then

again.

New Numbers

Izabella

Ht In
38.3

Wt Lb
30.5

BP
99/68

Lenard

Ht In
33.5

Wt Lb
24

Snow Day Notes

Leo, 18-months:

has discovered a new word:  MINE!

will climb onto the dining room table in the time it takes to go to the kitchen and retrieve the butter.

is beautiful.

loves to read Brown Bear or anything Iza happens to be reading.

has yet to have his first hair cut.  (Well, I did take pity on him and trim his bangs while we were in Kansas for Christmas.)

desperately needs a hair cut.

likes broccoli.

is not a fan of playing in the snow.

has decided that pigs are called "Lalalas" because of the book "Moo Baa Lalala."  has adopted a tiny pink pig as his bedtime "Lalala."  sadly this is Iza's little pig.  this causes much sadness and confusion.  for both of them.

has his own word for nursing:  mama.

is currently being night-weaned.  is not happy about that, but is learning.

has never slept through the night.  One time (last week) he slept from 8 pm to 5:30 am.  Usually he sleeps for three hours before he wakes the first time.  He is up at least three or four times a night.

has eyes that still amaze me.

rarely stops moving.

currently is exploring what happens when he shoves Izabella.  he is over the hair-pulling thing, mostly.

starts biting when he is tired.  or trying to bite me.  he is not being mean.  it is a playful nip, but still.



Izabella, three-years-old next month:

loves a good party.

hates to have her hair washed.

went to see her first theater performance:  The Berenstain Bears at the Jewish Community Center.  She was rapt for the entire show lasting almost an hour.  (Leo slept through it, thankfully).

still loves blue cheese, brie cheese, and goat cheese.

likes to pretend that she is going on a trip to New York City.  she packs her monkey backpack with snacks, books, and a bottle of water.

loves to watch "Kids" = Sesame Street on TV.

is extremely tolerant of her little brother. most of the time.

enjoys "Taking Care" of her baby dolls and stuffed animals.

loves to play in the snow. 

understands Hungarian. Speaks Hunglish.

often requests to wear her party dress so that she can twirl.

is observant.

is ready for a big-girl bed.

likes to stick out her "beautiful tummy" and rub it.

makes my heart ache when I put her to sleep and she requests one more ABC or Twinkle Twinkle.

has gorgeous long hair.

currently loves to paint.  our dining room table has been transformed into an art center.

attended her first dance class today.  moms are asked to stay in the waiting area.  the class was an hour-and-half long.  she says that she wants to go back next time.

Grow by Numbers

Izabella

2 years, 8 months

37 inches tall

30 pounds heavy

20 inches around her head

Leo

1 year, 3 months

31.5 inches tall

22 pounds 4.5 ounces heavy

20 inches around his head

Milestones

Ms. Izabiza opens the bathroom door, sets her Elmo potty seat on the big potty, climbs the stool, turns around and seats herself. Thank you very much. And she tells Mama and brother Leo to stay out.

She requests "Hallelujah" (by Leonard Cohen).

Leo and Izabella can now walk all the way from our local ice-cream parlor, Freeze, to our favorite park, Lincoln Park. Tata holds Izabella's hand and she holds Leo's hand. The distance is approximately .35 miles. That is a lot of steps when your legs are only about 15 inches long!

We are in the second week of letting Iza go diaper-free as she learns to use only the potty. She still uses a diaper for nap and bedtime. It takes courage to let your little one out and about in public without a diaper. Beside a tiny little dribble on the Starbuck's floor (the bathroom was occupied!), she hasn't had accidents. Luckily the summer weather allows me to put a dress on her. She can pull it up herself when she needs to visit the potty. Today I taught her how to put on her little undies. The little bow goes just beneath her belly button.

Leo can climb and run. I can still run faster than him. These days are numbered.

He imitates Iza constantly. Certainly Iza learned from her peers, but Leo's drive to imitate his sister is incredibly strong. Despite their 17-month-age difference, this is little that separates their physical ability--except the difference in height and thus reach. He wants to go where she goes, eat what she eats, drink what she drinks. He even sits on the potty and reads a book, just like sister.

Izabella's hair is long and thick and slightly curly and completely out of control. Tata is in charge of washing it and giving her a blow dry. She hates the rinsing, but loves to have it dried.

As much I loved the baby stage, I think I will love the two kids stage even more. The potential for fun is greater. They are little entertainers--especially Leo.

Still tandem nursing. Iza only nurses once, maybe twice a day. Leo still loves to nurse a lot at night.

Now, if only they would sleep.

A New Club

Miss Iza had her second birthday on February 8th. And as of that date, I can no longer claim membership to the 2-under-2 club. I suppose now I am in the 2-2-and-under club, but that doesn't quite garner the same insanity. With an over-2-year-old to my name I should have it all together by now. Parenting should be old hat, down pat, downright easy. Cutting baby nails? Been there. Teething? Been there. Making baby food. Done that.

Raising babies is "easier" with number 2. All that I learned raising Izabella has given me a frame of reference for the second baby. With Iza's every baby first, I would ask my mom, "Is this normal?" The weird newborn eyerolls. The frequency or lack thereof of poops. The list is endless. Now I have a sense of what is "normal," and even more importantly I understand that normal is way overrated.

A big bummer of parenting two little ones: illness. Wow. Does it suck to have a sick baby. Two sick babies are even worse. Worser still, sick babies + a sick mama. Poor me. We are not talking cancer. We are merely in the grip of lingering virus that causes mild fever followed by sinus woes. Leo is taking it the worse-est.

We are heading into night 13 of Baby Leo's fight against the family virus. By day he is cranky, but not too terrible. By night he drowns in his own snot. It is so sad to hear him try to breath. There is coughing, enough to make him gag and vomit. (I know. Sorry. But. Parenting babies is all about bodily fluids.) I have elevated our bed to create an incline. Vaporizer on full. Warm bath to loosen up the goo. I am doing all that I can and still we are up often in the night. I am okay with frequent waking when all that is needed is for me to nurse him back to sleep. But getting up to rock or bounce and walk or sing or all of the above is murder on this mama.

I admit it has led me to mutter quite loudly really bad words. I feel like a sh*t when I do it. But it usually releases some of my negative energy and allows me to refocus on the moment and endure. After so many nights, folks, I am not at my mothering best. It aint pretty.

The good news is that while I am not a patient woman, I do have endurance. And I do have a penchant for suffering bred into me by years of observing Lent and general Catholic culture. I may not be a saint, but I do understand the value of martyrdom.

I do not want my parenting to be defined by martyrdom, however. That seems all askew. I do not want to lose my life. I want to find it, create it in relationship with these little people.

Perhaps the nights of sitting with a suffering child who cries and thrashes and scratches (who seems entirely unappreciative of your love's labor) is a healthy dose of self-sacrifice. A way to die to self. It is certainly a way to wrinkle your skin and grey your hair.

And poor Leo. I can't wait to have my healthy, happy baby boy back.

Mise-en-scène

All the experts recommend that a nightly ritual will ease your little ones off to sleep. The elements may include a bath, a story, getting dressed for bed, dimmed lights, music, a cuddle, or nursing in permutations too numerous to describe.

Our evening ritual starts with dinner at six. After dinner we start the journey toward sleep by collecting our evening supplies: pajamas, the "bye-toe" (a wearable blanket), and socks. We then move through house and start the ascent toward the bedrooms with a litany of goodbyes to various toys and household landmarks. It is often at this point that Izabella remembers that we also need to bring along the monkey, dolly, owl, or the hairbrush.

Tata escorts Izabella and I bring up the rear with Leo. Once upstairs I leave Leo in the master bedroom to squirm on the floor. Tata is busy with Iza, who needs to be undressed (checked for poops) and then led into the tub. I charge around to dim lights, fill the vaporizers, adjust pillows and blankets, and check to be sure my iPhone is handy in Leo's room (in case I need to stay with him for an extended nursing session). Then I return to the master bedroom, undress Leo, and plunk him in the tub with Iza for his chance to splash madly. I exit the bathroom and Tata takes over. I wait outside the door with Leo's towel while Tata deftly removes him and distracts Iza with more water. (She recently started to get upset when we left.)

I then whisk Leo away to his room. I dress him: diaper, pajamas, bye-toe. I am usually singing his lullaby as he vigorously complains. We nurse in bed. If that doesn't work, we bounce on the ball and nurse. Eventually (hopefully) sleep overcomes him. If I can exit his room in time, I can then nurse Iza and put her to sleep. Lately her father has been able to put her to sleep without me, which is a huge relief as Leo has become more difficult to tip over into his dreams.

While I am tending to Leo, there is a drama playing out in the master bedroom. Iza sings her "clean-up" song and gathers her bath toys. She likes to have her stories read while she is in the buff. She leans against the pillows and snuggles under the covers. After the stories (Tata reads one Hungarian story, maybe two), she is dressed for bed: diaper, pajamas, socks, bye-toe. She is then carried across to her room where either mama waits to nurse her or tata puts her down with a final caress. (This room has been prepared with dim lights, music, and vaporizer.)

Repeat.

I know this is not fascinating stuff.

But what fascinates me is the drama of it all. The stagecraft. The nightly ritual is a habit that normally plays out without too much thought. Some nights I cling to it as if it were a magic formula that will culminate in every tired parent's favorite trick: sleeping babies (at least for a few hours) and a chance to breathe without little ones needing you.

My inner thespian geek gets a rush in the offing of it. As if the role I play is more than just stagecraft. It is art. It is transformational. This is the only audience that you want to fall asleep. And making it happen creates the actor's rush of transcendence, when it works. When it doesn't work, despair. The fourth wall crumbles when you are too tired to maintain the scene. Your makeup runs. Your costume constricts. You see your pitiful self attempting to play the role of Mother and coming up short.

I have to laugh at myself when I see my evening ritual as theater. Surely babies all over the world go to sleep with nary an ounce of such emotional/physical fanfare. Why the emphasis on ritual in our neighborhood?

I suspect that it sells products: THE perfect cuddly toy, THE music soundtrack, THE white noise machine, THE ETC. THAT YOU MUST HAVE IF YOU WANT YOUR BABY TO SLEEP (AND BE SUCCESSFUL IN LIFE).

I guess it is also a byproduct of a society that must guard its sleeping hours carefully in order to maintain its rigorous work schedules.

And tired parents everywhere will indulge a bit of drama if it buys more sleep for the entire family.

Not to mention the human craving for ritual for ritual's sake.

Of course you can train your babies to fall asleep with fewer elements to their evening ritual. But not many fewer, frankly. Maybe the babies would sleep without any of it. Maybe the ritual is partly (mostly?) for me too. It gives me a (false?) sense of control over the events of the evening. It allows me to feel like I am parenting.

In time my babies won't need me to direct their evening dramas. They will have their own private rituals, such as reading under the covers or texting best friends. For now I am the show's producer, director, and supporting actor. The kiddoes have center stage. All I can do is hope I've set the scene.