Grape Juice

What is it about bedtime which brings out the worst in my kids? It seems I’m in constant battle with them. I can’t let my guard down for minute.

Baths were a distant memory, toys had been picked up off the floor and books had been read and, where possible, acted out. Kids had been tucked into bed, kissed, hugged and lights were out. The kids were five minutes into their fifteen minutes of ‘talk time’ when, predictably, Miss5 arrived at her bedroom door.

“I’m hungry,” she said.

“No, you’re not,” I told her.

“Yes, I am,” she insisted.

“You’ve had a big dinner and heaps of fruit. You can wait till breakfast. Go to bed.”

There was a pause. “Can I have a drink?”

I agreed because this is part of our little bedtime dance if I forget to make sure there’s a drink bottle on everyone’s bedside table. I had. She raced into the kitchen. In no time at all she was back, rushing on her way to the bedroom.

“Night, Daddy,” she said.

“Night, darli-” I started, looking up just as she passed. “Hold up there, sweet cheeks. What do you have there?”

“A cup,” she said.

“True enough,” I agreed. But it wasn’t the cup that was the problem, it was what she’d filled it with – a huge bunch of grapes. “But those grapes are a good stomping away from being drinkable. I think you better put them back in the fridge and maybe try water.”

Thing is, she wouldn’t even have eaten them all. They’d probably have fermented nicely and we’d have found a cup of wine stuffed away somewhere in six months time.

I may have won this battle, but I suspect the war will definitely be won by my kids.