Cereal Bedtime Chaos

Bedtime in my house is supposed to be a calm, serene ritual. You know, the kind where the kids are freshly bathed, their teeth are brushed, and they drift off to sleep like cherubic angels while I sip a glass of wine and marvel at my parenting skills.

Supposed to be.

Instead, every single night, the bedtime routine takes an unexpected turn—right into the cereal aisle. Yes, folks, my two youngest children have decided that no matter how many meals or snacks they’ve consumed during the day, the second their teeth are brushed, they must have a bowl of cereal. And not just any cereal. No. This is not a Frosted Flakes free-for-all. This is a nightly negotiation of epic proportions that could put hostage negotiators to shame.

Let me set the scene for you. The kids have brushed their teeth. Blake is in his pajamas (though somehow wearing his T-shirt backward and inside out because, honestly, why not?), and Brittany is insisting on doing a gymnastics routine in the hallway. All seems calm-ish. But then, like clockwork, Blake’s eyes light up as he suddenly remembers: “Mom! I need cereal!”

Need. Not want. Need. As if his very survival depends on consuming Honey Nut Cheerios at 8:37 p.m.

Before I can even respond, Brittany, who was perfectly fine five seconds ago, chimes in: “Oh yeah, me too! But I want the chocolate cereal.”

Here’s the thing: they just brushed their teeth. I watched them do it. I’m the one who reminded them to floss. And now I’m supposed to just roll out the cereal buffet like this isn’t a blatant betrayal of dental hygiene? But if I say no, they act like I’ve denied them water in the desert. Their faces crumble, tears form, and suddenly I’m the villain in a Hallmark drama about starving children.

“You’re not even hungry,” I try reasoning. (Why do I even bother?)

Blake, clutching his stomach like he’s auditioning for a soap opera, counters, “But I’m starving, Mom. My tummy says I need Lucky Charms!” Because obviously, a leprechaun’s marshmallows are the key to his survival.

So, like any sleep-deprived parent who just wants the night to end, I cave. “Fine,” I say, already regretting it. “But one small bowl. That’s it.”

Famous last words.

Now we’re in the kitchen. Blake is “hell-bent” on pouring his own cereal, which results in roughly three servings spilling onto the counter and floor. Brittany has decided she needs milk in a separate cup because she’s apparently a cereal sommelier now. Duchess, my Schnauzer, is lurking nearby, gleefully licking up the crumbs because this is her version of happy hour.

By the time the bowls are poured, we’ve crossed into the twilight zone. Blake, despite being the instigator of this whole operation, suddenly doesn’t want cereal anymore. “I changed my mind,” he announces. “Can I have toast instead?”

“No. Eat the cereal,” I snap, channeling the kind of unhinged energy usually reserved for Black Friday shopping.

Meanwhile, Brittany has finished her bowl but now insists on a refill because “she’s still soooooo hungry.” My patience is hanging by a thread thinner than angel hair pasta. “We’re done,” I declare. “No more cereal. It’s time for bed.”

Cue the drama. Brittany flops onto the floor like a soccer player faking an injury. Blake starts whisper-chanting, “One more bowl, one more bowl,” as if sheer persistence will wear me down. Duchess, clearly fueled by the chaos, takes this moment to jump onto the couch with her tail still dusted in cereal crumbs.

Finally, I usher them back to their rooms, where they now have a second round of “teeth brushing” because I’m not about to explain to their dentist why their molars are coated in sugar. By the time I tuck them in, I’m so exhausted I’m considering cereal for dinner myself—straight out of the box, of course, because dishes are officially canceled.

As I flop onto the couch and text Seth to ask how his date went, I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. The bedtime cereal saga isn’t just a nightly ritual; it’s a reminder that parenting is one part survival, one part comedy, and 100% chaos.

Moral of the story: Never underestimate your kids’ ability to weaponize cereal. They’ll turn your kitchen into a war zone, your dog into a scavenger, and your sanity into a faint memory of what once was.

~ Mary

#MomLifeWithMary