But she knows how to the play the game. She knows I can’t say “no,” considering that she might actually have to go.
Finally, after using the restroom one final time and running into the living room to say good night to Mom for the eighth time, it’s time for bed.
A few more requests to turn off the fan and to grab Cinderella, and the psychological warfare of going to bed is over...until the sounds of singing sneak through the walls from her room.
A few minutes later, and “Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad,” makes its way to my ears, while I’m attempting to relax for an hour. I’ve tried to wait it out, but she’s persistent, and hearing my name uttered over and over again for 10 minutes is tiring.
Once I enter her room to see what her request is, I notice that she’s hiding — underneath the sheets with her doll Cinderella.
“Dad, can I tell you a secret?” she asks.
“Sure,” I reply.
“Mom is going to cook your hair,” she says.
Let that soak in for a moment. The first time she told me that secret, I can safely say that I wasn’t expecting that out of her mouth. But for the last few weeks, that’s the only secret she has for me, and I’m pretty sure she’s told that to other people, so the secret’s out.
I believe it’s in reference to her watching my wife straighten her hair, but regardless, it’s not something I need to know every night around 8 p.m.
Once I “lay down the law” and tell her to shut her eyes, she obliges, until I leave, and the party resumes with her having a detailed conversation with Cinderella. At this point, my wife and I discuss the merits of us going in again, or just letting her run the show and talk herself to sleep.