We have a big fat hairy bedtime routine at our house. First we send the kids up to prepare for inspection. They’re supposed to brush their teeth, go potty, flush the toilet, wash their hands, make sure the bathroom’s tidy, turn off the lights, get in their pajamas and pick a story.

Dan comes up and does a military-style inspection. You may ask, “How does Dan know how to do a military-style inspection?” and I would answer, “From TV. Duh!” To perform a military inspection, don’t you basically just bark out orders, while going down a checklist of to-do items and remaining extremely serious while the inspected parties giggle and yell back either “CHECK!” or more sheepishly, “UN-check!”? When they yell “UN-check!” usually in regards to flushing or washing hands, they scamper off to complete the task so they can then yell “CHECK!”

The only time Dan breaks his harsh military demeanor while performing the inspection is at the end when he gives high fives and tells them what a great job they did. I’m pretty sure that behavior is not regulation. It’s also probably not regulation to perform the inspection while a pathetic parched-lipped woman lays on the floor in the corner of the room, attempting to hold in her vomit. But such is life in our household these days.

I will report that I did not vomit yesterday, much to the chagrin of my stomach, who fought hard to liberate its contents. This triumph brought me to the gym today, followed by a chiropractor appointment, wherein the substitute chiropractor looked into my eyes and told me he could tell 100% just by looking at my irises that I’m going to have a boy. I’ve been sort of feeling a boy vibe for a couple of years now so I choose to believe him.

So on to bedtime. We then read the kid’s stories and have scripture time. After reading all the way through the Book of Mormon a couple of pages at a time with very little comprehension on the part of the kids, we’ve moved on to illustrated stories from the New Testament. These are definitely a much bigger hit as they have pictures, fewer Thou-type words, and most of the time when the kids guess that the guy with the beard is Jesus, it actually is.

Then we do prayers, the lights go out and we let the kids each pick a song for us to sing to them.

Lately Magoo has become obsessed with a song he learned at church, “We are a Happy Family”. He loves it. When we ask him which song he wants, he proceeds to sing, “She loves me. She loves me. We are a happy family.” I love that in his mind, the whole song boils down to “Mom loves me. Mom loves me. This equals happiness for all people.”

We’ve been meaning to record his song request for a while but when we finally got around to it, he’d changed his lyrics a bit. It’s still cute as a button though. Please overlook the fact that his pajamas are an advertisement for the Wii. For some odd reason, these were not hot sellers and so there were millions of pairs of them on rock bottom clearance. I figured they would be no worse at covering his nakedness than say, Diet Coke pajamas or Geico pajamas. I feel almost no weirdness, wrapping my son in a giant advertisement to sleep each night.

The actual lyrics to the song are:

I love Mommy. She loves me.
We love Daddy. Yessiree.
He loves us and so you see.
We are a happy family.

I love Laylee. She loves me.
We love Magoo. Yessiree.
He loves us and so you see.
We are a happy family.

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