A Threat to Regret

I’m sure we’ll look back and laugh at this someday.

Someday.

On Saturday, the third night we were at the coast, the evening after Eleanor decided she was terrified of the ocean, we had some serious bedtime drama.

We had gone out to dinner, and Eleanor ate really well. She might have eaten too much, and the food was rather greasy. When we were trying to put the kids to bed, she kept complaining that her tummy hurt. We told her she probably ate too much, and it would feel better with time. She just needed to relax and get some rest to help her tummy. We put the kids to bed. Phaedra was really tired and ready to sleep. Eleanor kept trotting back down the stairs to complain to us that she couldn’t sleep because her tummy hurt.

After sending her back to bed several times and still having her come downstairs, Grant figured she was tired enough that he could let her lay on the couch by us and she would fall asleep. We were both settling in to having time to ourselves without kids. I was uploading pictures from the day, and Grant was reading his book. Eleanor continued to whine and complain. We told her she needed to be quiet if she wanted to stay downstairs with us. She just wouldn’t quit, and she was showing no signs of relaxation that would indicate there was any hope of her falling asleep. We both tried to ignore her for a while. She kept up all the same racket. We kept telling her she had to be quiet or she would have to go back to bed. Finally, I was fed up. She was whining no matter what we said, and Grant didn’t seem like he was going to do anything about it. I scooped her up and took her up to her bed.

Poor Phaedra had fallen asleep in the quiet while Eleanor was gone. She probably could have fallen asleep with all of Eleanor’s noise if Eleanor hadn’t been allowed to stay downstairs, but she couldn’t stay asleep now that Eleanor was screaming in what used to be a quiet room. Phae woke up crying. Eleanor came right back downstairs, so Grant stepped in. As I sat downstairs, above me, I heard the stomp, stomp, stomp as Grant marched her back to bed, Eleanor’s screams of protest, Grant’s softer steps as he walked to the door, then more stomp, stomp, stomps and screams. This happened over and over and over. The whole time, Phaedra was screaming her guts out (Grant had to pass by her bed each time).

I went up to comfort Phaedra and try to help her relax again. That’s when it happened: the threat.

“Eleanor, if you don’t stay in your bed and go to sleep, I’m going to put you in the car, and you and I are going home.”

I won’t mention which one of her parents made the threat since it was a low moment. We were both angry. We were both desperate and trying to think of anything that would strike fear into her heart and make her obey. Besides, it doesn’t matter now. The words were spoken. There was no going back. The air was still like a standoff on an old western movie as we waited the long half second before she responded, hoping she wouldn’t call our bluff.

Our worst fears confirmed, Eleanor wailed, “Okay. I wanna go home!”

Grant did all he could to make it sound like a less desirable option. He went on a rant somewhat like this:

“Fine! We’ll get in the car and go home right now. Mommy and Phaedra can stay at the beach and play, and we’ll come back to get them in a few days. They’re going to play on the beach and eat candy all day and watch all of your favorite movies. They’ll play games and buy toys and wrestle and tickle each other. You will go straight to bed when we get home. You don’t get to sleep with any animals. You will be in time-out the whole time until we come back to get Mommy and Phaedra. Do you still want to go home with me?”

Okay, so those weren’t his exact words, but you get the picture. He was desperate.

She just cried some more and said, “Yes. I wanna go home and sleep in my own bed!” It was quite clear at that point (if it hadn’t been before) that Eleanor was at that state of exhaustion where she cries and throws irrational tantrums and disobeys until she gets her way or until she completely wears herself down to not being able to continue her fit with the required gusto and sniffles her way to sleep. But since we were still in the throes of her tantrum, we had no choice but to see it through.

Her parents’ faces were turning all shades of red, purple, fuchsia, and any other shade previously associated with extreme anger. There was a brief interchange between parents as to whether or not we were actually going through with ruining our family vacation because of our 4-year-old. The parent who made the threat might have felt a slight lack of spousal support at that point, and Grant, exasperated, went downstairs with no intention of returning, leaving me with a tired, crying 1-year-old and a belligerent 4-year-old who wanted to go home.

Eleanor kept crying, “I wanna go home and sleep in my own bed! I don’t want to be at the beach house anymore! I’m scared of the tide! My tummy hurts!”

I laid down the law. I said very clearly, “NO one is going home. We came here to have a good time as a family, and we are GOING to have FUN. I know it’s hard to sleep in a different place in a different bed, but that’s just something you have to do if you want to go to fun places like the beach. You are just tired, and you’ll feel better once you’ve had some rest. Going home is NOT an option.” I explained to her that we wouldn’t stay at the beach house forever, that we would go home to our own beds in a few days so Daddy could go back to work. And I tried one more time to explain that she didn’t need to be afraid of the ocean. I also explained to her that she was so tired because she had been getting up with the sun every morning, and if she would just roll over and go back to sleep for a bit in the morning, she might not be so exhausted.

I honestly don’t remember all of what happened next. I eventually got Eleanor into her bed, but it wasn’t without a fight. I had to threaten her with losing privileges such as watching some of her favorite shows we had brought with us for her to watch on the laptop. I also told her I would sing her a song if she would lay down in her bed, and then I had to tell her many times that I couldn’t sing her a song because she wasn’t cooperating. I went back and forth between threatening and soothing; I was good cop and bad cop. Eventually, I acted like I was done trying to help her get to sleep because of her lack of cooperation, and I focused on helping Phaedra get back to sleep (I had been holding her during most of the drama with Eleanor). I think it was the idea that I was no longer willing to try to work with her that made Eleanor slowly, bit-by-bit, decide to do as she was told. I sang her a song (even though she didn’t deserve it). At the end of one of her major meltdowns, all it takes is a little comfort to get her to sleep. She calmed right down, and we didn’t hear anything else from her for the rest of the night.

Sadly enough, this isn’t the first time we’ve dealt with major drama when Eleanor got too tired, and it probably won’t be the last. It is the first time we’ve had to deal with it at the beach, and it was the first time it nearly ruined an entire vacation. At least the next night went smoothly. She was worn out and ready to sleep after our long day hiking on Sunday.