Stickerless, Yet Again

So, we attempted bedtime for a second night with our less than handy dandy sticker chart. Which is still hanging there all barren and unused (actually, I believe it is now laying on the hall floor in a rumpled pile, after Annie angrily threw it out of her room). This time we didn't even make it to step three, interrupted by a full scale meltdown during teeth brushing. (Greg and I were the evil-hold-her-down-and-make-her-finish-brushing parents tonight . . . my natural instinct would just to send her to bed immediately once the monumental tantrum begins, but unfortunately, the asthma medicine runs a risk of causing thrush if she doesn't rinse and brush well after each use.) The freak out was loud, intense and so long that we didn't even attempt the 'read two books' or 'evening prayers' portion of the affair. She ended up screaming, nonstop, for about 45 minutes (waking Ellie a few times throughout) and then finally crashing on her floor.

We seem to be regressing. Last night we at least made it to the actual "sleeping" step of the chart before it all hopelessly derailed. (Oh, and I tried to get her to take a nap today. Her response. She peed her pants, then happily skipped out of her room, holding the wet shorts, practically singing out, "Oh, look Mom! We have to wash things and clean up!" I tried to get her to go to sleep after all of the cleanup had commenced, but it was a lost cause at this point, and Greg was on his way home from work, and it was just too late to make it worth it.) Have I mentioned my child hates to sleep. 'Cause she does. And I don't know what to do about it.

Unrelated (and the kind of stories I remind myself of to return my blood pressure to normal after the bedtime escapades of most nights), Annie and Ellie were playing in Annie's room, up to her bed. (Greg and I were passed out in the hallway due to parental exhaustion.) We hear Annie tell Ellie, "OK Ellie, I'm going to teach you how to pray! OK, 'Dear Heavenly Father . . .' No, Ellie, you need to fold your arms, like this. 'Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for this day . . .' You watching Ellie? You fold your arms. 'Heavenly Father, thank you for Ellie . . . ' Ellie. Ellie, I'm trying to teach you." Annie was getting distracted as quickly as Ellie was though, so they never made it much further. Greg and I were both just 'shushing' each others giggles out in the hall so we could try and catch all that she was saying without having to actually intrusively move in closer.