BRIBERY: DON'T SHOOT IT 'TIL YOU TRY IT

What do you do when your kid won't sleep? No, I mean WON'T. SLEEP. And I don't mean a 5 month old who sleeps for 5 hours at a time and wakes up to feed, for the occasional 2 am or 6am feed. (Please, cry me a river). No. I mean, a 3 1/2 year old who can walk, talk and "Beautiful Mind," him AND you out of any sleeping scenario.

What. Do. You. Do.?

Traditional sleep training doesn't work because he doesn't stay put. As stated, said child will waltz right out of room, plop down with me on the couch and ask me what song they're singing on American Idol.

Crying it out doesn't work because, in addition to having neighbors, words have replaced tears. On any given night, at any point during the night, I hear, "Mommmmmmmmmmmmy, I neeeeeeeeeeeeed you." Or "Moooooommmmmmmmmy, I had a bad dream." Or "Mommmmmmmmmmmy, why are windows square?"

Yes. At any given point during the night, my son can go from a totally typical, desperate, scared place to a full fledged philosophical discussion.

"Mommy, you know what. would. be. so coooo-uhhhl??"

"Whaaat," I whisper, tucking him back in... at 3am... after changing his pull up he demanded needed changing.

"Iiiiiiiiif. Um, um, um,"

"Shhhh. Yes. Shh.... It's sleepy time."

"Noooooooo mommy, no. I have a ca-westch-un."

"What???"

"How. do. people. maaaaaaaaake.... houses?"

Think about that question.... Just think about it... At 3 am....

ANYWAY, the point that I'm getting at here, is that I need a miracle and am feeling desperate. Without question, it's time to pull out the big guns (no pun intended) and use BRIBERY. Clearly, taking things away never worked, so perhaps it's time to GIVE. REWARD. ENTICE.

And since, my child has already had his fair share of cupcakes, lollipops, stickers, movies, and "super cool" trucks, I needed to take it up a notch.

"Jonah, what TOY do you want most in the whole wide world?"

"A shooter gun."

"A WHAT??!?!??!"

"A shooter gun."

"What's a SHOOTER GUN?!" I asked horrified.

Barely able to contain his composure, he says fast and excitedly, "A shooter gun is wh-what- you-push-it. And. You. Push. Green button. And. FIRE! SHOOTS! OUT. And the purple. Button. AND YOU SHOOOT IT. And it goes SHOOOTER. And there's FIRE. SHOOTS out."

Before I go any further, let me say this: Guns terrify me. I want nothing to do with them and frankly, the right to bear arms is a notion that freaks me out and disturbs me greatly. That said, I understand that boys will be boys... and though the word "gun" or "shoot" (not to be mistaken with "shit," which I have been known to say from time to time) is NOT something I have personally uttered around my son, thanks to life, media, friends and just plain evolution: He wants a "Shooter Gun."

Bribery, I believe in. Guns, I do not. But for the sake of sleep, both his and mine, it is time to pull the trigger. (No pun intended. Again).

So... Off to Toys R Us we go. I make it very clear what our mission is: He will choose a "shooter gun," (Which at this point, I pray actually exists and isn't something that is behind a glass case and requires a driver's license). I tell him, that after he selects his toy, we will take it home, wrap it up, and write out a chart (see picture) stating all the rules -- rules, which he obviously defies nightly and need to be nipped in the bud. (FYI, we came up with these rules together. And yes, he did make it clear that he should be allowed to call me or get out of bed if he also has "Fro Up.")

We went over the plan a dozen times before we got to the store, and a dozen more inside the store. THANKFULLY, after rows of totally inappropriate toys that could actually harm a child, we found what I deem: A SHOOTER GUN.

It basically, makes "Buzz Lightyear noises!" It's called a "fire blaster." The middle turns around, lights up, and makes Space Mountain sounding noises. OKAY, fine. NOW we're talking. A boy toy I can wrap my head around.

Well... I'm pleased to say, that night one was a success. And as I type this, the beginning of night 2 seems to be working too.... Many people asked what I'll do after 5 nights... if he'll expect more bribes... Well, I have no idea. Feel free to shoot me some suggestions. No pun... Well, you get the idea.

INCEPTION: PRESCHOOL STYLE

Though bedtime has become a battle in my house as of late, there are actually a few sweet rituals that have little to no hysteria-three year-old-hostage stand-off- negotiation type qualities. One of those rituals happens to be a discussion about dreams... After I've told him a story about how houses are built in a factory run by five men named Bob, Steve, Joe, Fred, and Roger (don't ask), I rock him in the chair and tell him to have sweet dreams. Of course, conversation ensues...

J: What should I dream about, Mommy?

Me: Tonight, you should dream about chocolate chips, rainbows and Giraffes who play the violin---

J: No, no, no, Mommy. I'm going to have a different dream.

Me: Okay...

J: I'm going to dream about chocolate chips, rainbows, and fast, fast planes that go like this-shhhh shhhhh-shhhh- zooom! (he almost pokes out an eye).

Me: That sounds like a good dre---

J: But, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!

Me: Yes, love?

J: What will you dream about?

Me: Oh, I'm going to abouuuuut.... Mint chocolate chip ice cream, beautiful green trees, and----

J: No, no, no, Mommy. You can't dream about that. You have to dream about, um, um, um...

Me: Yes?

J: You have to dream about shooter guys-

Me: Shooter guys? That's scar-

J: NO! Mommy! You have to dream about shooter guys, a house factory, and marshmallows.

Me: Okay. Is that all.

J: Yes. That's all.

Me: Well... That'll be an interesting dream.

J: But, Mommy...?

Me: Yes?

J: You know what would be so coooo-uuuhhhll?

Me: What???

J: If you were in my dream.

M: Yah. That would be cool. You can dream about me.

J: Mommy, you could have the same dream... what I'm dreaming mommy, if you want.

Me: You want me to dream about the same thing as you?

J: Yah. You can, Mommy. You can do it. If you want, Mommy. You can have my dream.

Me: That's very sweet. Thank you. I love fast, fast planes.

J: Not fast fast planes mommy. Poop. You can dream about poop. It's very funny.

Me: Oh. Yes it is.

J: Do that mommy, dream about poop.

I think I just got "incepted."

IF THAT AIN'T LOVE

Last night I slept on the floor. Yes. The floor. Next to Baby-Ko's crib. In a fetal position. Using his changing pad as pillow, and my robe as a blanket, I managed to squeeze my arm through a slat so that my son, my very (possibly terrible) two year old son, could hold my hand, and eventually (pray god) fall the eff asleep.

Two hours and one majorly numb hip later, I gently removed my hand from his grip, and literally crept out of the room cursing every creak my exhausted knees caused as I crawled down the hallway.

For about a week now, I have broken every rule in THE sleep book. He cries. I pick him up. I put him down. I go in. I go out. I sleep with him. He sleeps with me. He eats. I eat. He drinks. I drink. It's like sleep training all over again only worse: He TALKS. He can reason with me. He can beg. He can plead. And he can even make me laugh in the middle of the night. (Not sure why he said he wanted "Meat-a-balls" in the middle of the night. But he did. And it was funny).

The point is, I'm clueless mommy 101 right now and I've got to get a grip. I've got to get him back to sleep and I've got to be consistent. It's hard to know if his new bad habit (which seems to strike at about 1:45am) is the result of something environmental or something developmental, but holy shit: I'm tired.

As I put Baby-Ko to sleep tonight and promised him that I would be in the other room all night, and that tonight, he would sleep in his room ALONE, surrounded by Eeyore, Tigger, Teddy, Monkey and his favorite three blankets, I prayed that he understood what I was saying. I prayed that he understood that I love him so much and that I would sleep on the floor all night with my hand through a slat if I had to.... but that I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to. That I'm pretty sure that it will only make things harder down the road if I don't nip this in the bud now (again). And that when he's 17, and I'm still checking for monsters under his bed, (and giving him cheerios in a bowl because he simply asks for it at 3am because I'm simply exhausted) his buddies won't think it's very cool...

At least that's what I'm telling myself tonight.... tears and all.

Wish me luck.... And send me your best sleep training advice. Seriously. Just not at 1:45 am. I''ll probably be a little... wrapped up....