A Beating Administered by the Christmas Elf

So like back in like July my six year-old daughter indicated that she wanted to sleep in the same bed with us--her mom and I--"just one time since I've never done that and I love you guys and we can all be together."

Well, hell no, does that work, kid. That's crazy-kid talk. I've seen how children sleep. They are like tumble-dryers full of razor blades or something heinous like that. Toss. Turn. Swat. Talk. Kids sleep like shit. But she kept asking and being all cute and "family-oriented" and insistent and flashing that hypnotic smile. Finally in like August I bluffed, "Well, maybe at Christmastime, sweetheart" thinking that she'd either 1) forget about it in a couple of weeks or, 2) decide on her very own that that was just one totally mopetarded idea to begin with and that the entire notion could simply be forgotten. We'd just keep the fact that she even considered something that stupid on the DL like the first rule of Fight Club.

But my only child is a lot like me and not only took that metaphorical baton but ran laps with it. It probably never was about sleeping with us and being a Norman Rockwell collector's plate family as it was setting (and continuing) a precedent of having things break her way because she willed them to break her way. I know the scam so well. I invented that scam.

And without fail every few weeks, then days, then hours leading up to Christmas we would be reminded how fun and exciting it was going to be to all sleep together on Christmas eve. She told her class. She told her friends. My wife actually sat me down one night around Halloween to look into my eyes and "understand" what I was "thinking" by "promising" something so "ridiculous." I said I thought the child would either forget about it or decide that since I thought it was cool she would on her very own disown and disavow the idea. "She's your child" my wife explained without further elaboration. Oh, we were in trouble then.

So I bluffed and hoped and prayed until about 7:00 PM on Christmas eve that this would all just go the hell away. "Sure honey....uh, are you sure you want to do this? You'd probably be a lot more comfortable and rested and happy sleeping alone and even get more presents." I said that last night. But the B was "go for launch" as they say at the Kennedy Space Center on Cape Canaveral. And it took some last minute negotiations to even convince her to begin her night in her own bed (here at grandma and grandpa's house). I told her that when I came up for bed that I'd move her into our bed in our room. Still bluffing was I. I had no real intention to move her but I was informed by my spousal partner and motherofmychild (baby mama) that I had to actually do the shit I promised.

The baby mama spousal unit (BMSU) went up for bed. I followed about an hour later (and seriously considered staying up all goddamn night or at least until everybody was asleep and just crash on the couch and in the morning go, "Awww.... I must have fallen asleep. Darn it!"). And so began the promise fulfillment mission that I forced upon my wife and motherofmyonlychildthatIknowof. I gently pulled the B from her bed and carried her into our room. I put her into the middle of our full sized guest bed and realized that our baby was pretty much filling up the bed herself. BMSU was staring daggers too. We both knew what we were about to experience in this full sized bed with this...child...kid...nearly full sized human.

Torture! I've seen how children sleep. They are like tumble-dryers full of razor blades or something heinous like that. Toss. Turn. Swat. Talk. Kids sleep like shit. If Sarah Palin or 'say it ain't so' Joe Biden ever caught Osama bin Laden and they wanted to make him talk all they'd have to do is have him sleep for one night with my six year-old daughter in a full sized bed. He's going to talk. He's going to reveal every plot past and future. But, of course, Barack Hussein Obama will outlaw cruel and unusual torture techniques and just waterboard him instead as the lesser of two evils.

Now it's the morning after and I feel as I've been punched and kicked and swatted and head-butted all night long because I have been punched and kicked and swatted and head-butted all night long. I'm sure I have kidney damage. Merry Christmas everybody! I feel as if I have been beaten by a thousand of Santa's little elf helpers and all of God's angels for not believing in either of them so adamantly. I have been punished for being a jerk. I have been shown my own mortality. I am filled with the realization that my daughter has totally and completely out-played, out-smarted, and out-witted me for what is the first of a lifetime of offspring beat-downs. I am sore, I am tired, and I am filled with remorse.

And then this morning the B kissed me on the cheek and said, "Merry Christmas, Daddy!"