What fresh hell is this?

If asked which historical figure I would like to sit down to dinner with, one of the first women that comes to my mind is Dorothy Parker. She's one of those indomitable she-roes I wish I could have seen in action. Wouldn't it have been a kick, sitting near the Algonquin Roundtable, hearing her exchange insults with Robert Benchley and George S. Kaufman. "What fresh hell is this?" she'd ask as Alexander Woolcott dragged his bleary-eyed self over to order yet another drink.

I love that phrase. It comes to mind every evening at around 7:30. The clock ticks, heading inexorably to the deadline we've set for LegoGuy and Sport to start getting ready for bed.

All the parenting books we've read state emphatically that children need a good 10-12 hours of sleep each and every night. Or. They. Will. Not. Grow. Into. Decent. Human. Beings. That kid of your cousin's who stays up every night until 10 o'clock? Serial-killer in training. The infant who only sleeps in the daytime, but giggles with joy half the night? Baby Hitler.

SO and I established a bedtime routine when LegoGuy was in first grade, and during the school year, we follow that routine to the letter -- without fail. And without fail, the boys test the boundaries every single night.

7:25. I start eyeballing the clock with dread.
7:26. Sport asks, "Can I go outside and play?"
7:28. LegoGuy remembers he left something in the van.
7:29. SO retrieves him from the garage. He's been distracted by a G.I. Joe.
7:30. I tell the boys to take a shower.
7:31. Both boys are wrestling in the living room. One is poked in the eye. Accusations and excuses fly.
7:35. SO yells.
7:40. Sport is finally in the shower. LegoGuy rushes to the other shower in order to turn on the hot water and steal it from Sport. There is lots of screaming as the hot water fluctuates.
8:01. I force Sport to get out of the shower. He resists. 6 inches of water cover the bathroom floor.
8:05. SO forces LegoGuy out of the shower. Wet towels and clothes remain on the floor. Again.
8:10. Dripping wet and naked, both boys try to tell us about something that happened at school that neither would divulge while we quizzed them during dinner.
8:15. Both are asked to comb their hair. Again.
8:20. Sudden onslaught of hunger pangs -- both rush to the kitchen to eat a bowl of cereal.
8:25. Both are asked to brush their teeth. There is a tussle in the bathroom. One has his ribcage slammed into the doorknob. More accusations and excuses.
8:30. In the bedroom, but not yet in bed. Arguments over what kind of music to listen to.
8:35. More heated exchanges from bedroom. I close their door to muffle the sound.
8:45. Exhausted, SO and I stare into space.
9:00. Sport is asleep. The sound of legos being played with disturbs our somnambulence.
9:01. We put in a DVD.
9:05. LegoGuy appears with a question.
9:06. SO yells.
9:07. LegoGuys disappears.
9:15. Peace.

Of course, each night brings its own subtleties and nuances. The boys take the art of stalling to another level. They are stall masters. Each night is its own fresh hell.

It's a good thing they look so adorable while they sleep, or I'd just let them stay up all night.

But I guess the world doesn't need any more baby Hitlers.