My wife and I have been trying new sleep routines lately because our girls have become—for lack of a better word—gremlins. Instead of quiet evenings catching up on episodes and adulthood, we now play “Guess what just broke!” with every thud and bang. Just getting them into their rooms for bedtime is taxing. No lie, I now have to pretend to break down in tears as our youngest daughter fights off night. Full on sobbing, high pitch shrieks, contorted face. It’s really a sight to behold and not my proudest moment. She ultimately feels so bad for her broken father that she consoles me and lays in her bed. It is one of the many tricks I’ve learned as a dad along the way. Some are brilliant, some are ethically questionable, but all help me live another day. Here are some of my favorites:
Lying is fundamental. The TV is broken. We don’t have any more juice. Monsters might take daddy in the night if you don’t go to sleep. I get it—as adults, truth is honorable and generally the right thing to do. But in the world of children, the truth is flexible, especially in the land of invisible friends and walking snowmen named Olaf. Sometimes “no” isn’t good enough and a rational explanation just takes too long. Go on, judge me.
Snacks = gold. I read an article recently explaining the highly successful eating habits of children in France. Apparently, parents are very strict about food routines and generally don’t provide snacks between meals. Good for them. For me, cheesy pirate booty might as well be real pirate booty. It’s the currency I use for potty breaks, tantrum stoppers and silence breaks. And I realize the majority of snacks aren’t healthy, hence why they can live in the bottom of the diaper bag for months until the emergency situation arises. Goldfish, apple sauce, granola bars, crackers, veggie straws, fruit snacks, M&Ms. Even mints will do in a pinch. Snacks—don’t leave home without them.
Get a dog. I suppose any pet would do, but dogs are natural companions. I don’t how many times my wife and kids have left me in the dust, house askew, chaos abound. I always have my dog. (For your visual reference, our dog Charlie is a dopey, loping Goldendoodle that some friends have claimed bears a striking resemblance to me.) Dogs are also great babysitters playmates, giving us parents a few extra moments of sovereignty. The girls specifically love to play groomer and doggy dress up. Charlie despises it, but we all have to pay our dues.
Smart speakers are the new nanny. Yes, they might be listening to us, tracking our every move, capturing our data and stealing our identities. But Alexa and Google never get tired, yell at my kids or pretend to fall asleep on the couch. We first discovered the magic of these devices by playing white noise for our oldest daughter when she was a baby. If technology can save me from passing out while shusshing and rocking for 45 minutes, hallelujah (Side note: I developed a patented figure-eight hip move along with a vibratory hum that worked wonders for fussy infants. I can provide all the details for the low price of $19.99.)
Less toys, more boxes. I’m not sure how much money and time we’ve invested in toys since our kids were born. The figures are probably nauseating, considering the amount of said toys that have also been trashed, lost or handed down the past few years. But one thing is clear: the boxes, ribbons, string, tape, fasteners and plastic bubble wrap are always more exciting than the thing itself. I guess it’s the sheer potential of these items that makes them so awesome. Every box is a pirate ship, every rope a sister-torturing device, every styrofoam peanut pile a frozen wonderland. Lesson learned. Christmas shopping at Home Depot and the local construction dumpster.
These aren’t parent hacks. They represent a cautionary tale of a dad who has failed way more than succeeded. And I’ll learn more as time goes on. But with new challenges and problems, I can always rely on one thing—fake crying goes a long way.