The Day

"The Day" is one of those rituals I abhor.

The FYO, adept at reading social cues, has adopted by inviting only BioMom to do "The Day" with her.

Our evening rituals have slowly, over time, grown into a nearly 1/2 hour event (not including bath time if it is bath night). The FYO brushes her teeth, goes to the bathroom etc. Then we read a few books (the number depends on how early we get the party started). Then it is to her room where we sing several versions of "Turla lura lura". This could include "jumping Turla", "swinging-Turla" or whatever she cons us into (which, again, depends on the time, but also on our moods). I hope you're following. Then she gets one last "holding-Turla" where one of us holds her and the other attempts to tickle one or both of us. The person to hold her is decided based on a round of eenie-meenie-miny-mo, which I regularly rig. Anyway, "the day" evolved as another Next Step in the process of leaving her alone in her room. A stalling tactic, if you will.

The FYO is genious. "The Day" began with a simple explanation of what was happening the next day. It evolved (from my perspective) into a daily account of weeks-on-end: Then, the Thursday after The Fourth-of-July, we're going to wake up, brush our teeth, go to the bathroom read a book, watch the weather on the Katie Couric show, eat breakfast, go swimming, have a picnic. . . . etc. You get the idea.

I generally don't respond well to the obvious stalling techniques, but beyond this, I genuinely dislike planning. I, simply, don't want to know what's going on past, say, tomorrow. So I simply refuse.

I suppose that's why I've been outsourced.