I dread that day, though I know it’ll come too soon for me as well.
However, I’m secretly hoping that if I stop trying to make them eat their veggies then they will never grow up and I’ll never have to be faced with that problem.
I couldn’t sleep last night either. Even though all the stuff I was worring about all weekend turn out OK just before I went to bed, I couldn’t get to sleep.
At 13 years old the Magic Kiss must be temporarily replaced by something more powerful. Whack 'em upside the head with the Magic Brick and, voila!, out for a good 8 hours. The good news is that, in time, another (albeit different) Magic Kiss will help ensure a good night’s sleep. I don’t want it delivered by my mother, though. Oedipus I ain’t.
I second this approach, although I prefer the magic cricket bat, which can also be employed to kick start homework- and chore-avoiding tweens and teens.
Thirteen years isn’t a bad run, especially these days. Both mine still jump up and down in excitement whenever I get home. I’ve wondered lately how long that will last. Someone said, a few years back, that it wouldn’t last past five or six, and we’re well past that, so everything else is just gravy.
Fortunately, another bedtime ritual has not lost its effectiveness. I think because it appeals to Ivygirl’s girly side.
In a fraightfully naice society snobby voice, we say in unison, “Smooooches!” Then air-kiss each other’s cheeks. Then, again in unison it’s “Dahhhling! Let’s do lunch! Have your people call mah people.” Then she flounces off to bed.