Bedtime in our house is this wild combination of chaos, negotiation, and denial—mostly theirs, sometimes mine. You’d think after eight years of parenting, I’d have cracked the code. Nope. Every night, around 8:00, it’s like someone flips a “hyper” switch in my kids’ brains. Suddenly, William’s doing parkour off the couch, and Jeremy’s asking deep life questions like, “Do ants have birthdays?” Meanwhile, Jared’s in the kitchen pretending he can’t hear any of it.
I used to think bedtime routines were this cute Pinterest thing—baths, books, bed. Easy. But that’s before I met real-life bedtime, where the bath ends with water on the ceiling, the book turns into a debate about why dragons can’t live in Florida, and the “bed” part takes approximately forever.
Here’s what’s actually helped us, after lots of trial, error, and late-night meltdowns (mine included).
Step one: start the slowdown early. If the kids are bouncing off the walls at 8:30, that means I started the wind-down way too late. Around 7:15, I dim the lights a bit, turn off screens, and put on soft music. Jeremy calls it “the sleepy playlist.” It’s mostly instrumental songs, but he insists we keep one Taylor Swift song in there—his emotional support jam.
Then comes the bath trick. It’s not really about being clean (let’s be honest, some nights that’s negotiable). Warm water just relaxes them. Sometimes we add lavender bubbles, and I swear it helps. William once said it smelled like “purple clouds.” Sure, buddy.
After that, snack time—but controlled. Nothing sugary, nothing exciting. I keep it boring on purpose. Half a banana, a few crackers. The key is no big energy spike, just enough to keep “I’m starving!” cries from echoing down the hallway at 9:45.
And then, the magic hour: reading time. Every kid has a book phase. William’s in a graphic novel phase, and Jeremy’s obsessed with any story involving animals wearing clothes. I read with them, but sometimes Jared takes over—and honestly, his storytelling voices are way better than mine. One night he made a raccoon sound like a retired pirate. I laughed so hard I ruined the mood.
Here’s the part I didn’t expect: bedtime calm starts with me. If I’m rushing or stressed, they feel it. Kids can sense tension like tiny emotional detectives. When I take a breath, slow down, and just be with them—everything shifts. It’s less about controlling the chaos and more about joining it for a minute, then gently guiding it toward quiet.
Do they still get wild some nights? Absolutely. There are evenings when I just throw my hands up and let them build a blanket fort at 9 p.m. But those are the same nights I peek in later and find them both asleep under it, tangled up and peaceful, and I think—yeah, we’re doing okay.
Bedtime will never be perfect in this house. But if I can end the day with two sleepy smiles and a few minutes of quiet before the next storm (usually involving breakfast negotiations), that’s a win in my book.