The chloroform chair

When a little boy sacks out somewhere besides his bedroom, you have to execute efficiently. You have about four minutes from the time you wake him up to get him properly horizontal in his bed, else he rouses too much. After that happens, the risk of a chaotic rest of the evening rises rapidly, with possible shrieks of “I’m not tired!” and accompanying coursing adrenaline and what-not.

Nathan had a busy day today, and about 7:30 tonight (an hour to an hour and a half before usual bedtime), the comfort of this chair, as well as the cool breeze and white noise from the window fan, were too much for him:

OK. From the time I pick him up, we have 240 seconds in which to execute the last tee-tee of the day, the teeth brushing, and the change into pajamas. (We move Friday night’s bath to late Saturday morning because of the weekly soccer game.) Aaron was sitting on the couch, and I left Scooby-Doo babysitting him while I went to it.

It was close—the lucidity of his conversation near the end of the sequence made me nervous—but we made it. I closed his door, declared victory, and started back to the kitchen to finish the dishes.

Ha! In that scant time, Aaron had moved to the chloroform chair, and now he was out. Lather, rinse, repeat. (Aaron doesn’t resist as much when he’s tired, so take two wasn’t as tense.)

So now both kids are zonked, the dishes are done, and it’s only 8:15. Plus, Lea’s out having some time to herself. Wow, I might have to watch a kid-inappropriate movie now. The first Grindhouse DVD came this week. If I want to use my chair, though, I’ll have to move victim #3:

(You can’t sneak up on any cat but a senescent one, but he was asleep until the flash on the camera popped up.) I just wish I’d taken photos of the boys now.

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