Hit nothing but air!

And the awesome nights just keep on rolling.

I became aware of this when Mrs Mango returned to bed at one or two in the morning after being up with Little Mango 3 for hours, trying to get him to go back to sleep. Apparently, he wasn't interested. Something fascinating that our littlest has been doing quite frequently lately as we attempt to forge through the pain barrier and get him to welcome a night's sleep like every sane individual does, is tense his little muscles up and fight against you while setting his vocal chords to “scream”. Luckily, with the baby monitor still firmly plugged in, of which I protest for the simple fact that we can hear him without it, we get this sound in stereo. And by my saying we can still hear him, you probably understand that I mean Mrs Mango can hear him – I, like every other man in their desperate attempts to be constantly on watch for sounds of alarm, power down like a machine at night – and once it's off, there's nothing that's going to start that thing up again.

Anyway, so Mrs Mango was about at the end of her sanity, as you would get after hours of relentless and seemingly senseless battle, trying to get the boy to sleep. What I think works well in our family though, is that there is always backup. If I was in the same situation, and believe me I have been, though I wouldn't be handling it anywhere near as calmly as my wife – the very fact that she was stressed made it very obvious something was wrong – but if I was in that situation, I know that she would be there to tag in and deal with it. It's always good having someone fresh come in to the fight, especially if you've just spent an hour or two wearing them down – it's a rope-a-dope with an extra boxer – tag – knockout! I think that play on words, even though it could be taken the wrong way, worked quite well just then. So Mrs Mango, having gone all Ali on Little Mango 3's George Foreman for the past hour or two, came back into the room at a loss for the next step - I knew what had to be done and into the fray I went.
'I've got your back!' I shouted, running out of the room, gallantly.
'You Rock!' she shouted after me like a groupie in the presence of a rock star, or it could have been, 'What?' wearily, as she collapsed on the bed - I'm not really sure.

So now I am standing, watching the door to his room, waiting to know whether to move in or retreat; listening, thinking, fearing. You see, it's always a bit scary waking up in the night to one of the children already screaming, a bit strange, like there's been this entire adventure being played out while I've been fast asleep. So, when you get to their door, and you know they're in there waiting for you.... it's sort of like that scene from The Exorcist when they enter Regan's bedroom for the first time – you just don't know what they're going to do. I'm not suggesting they'll projectile vomit, swear at you and then walk around upside down on their hands and feet.... but then again, that's always a possibility.

So, having entered the room, I am greeted at the door by a look from Little Mango 3, half off the bed and in the middle of a tantrum, a little cute snarl that he does, and then a continuation of the scream, this time with a bit more fervour. But what he doesn't understand is that I'm fresh out of bed, I'm new to the fight, I've got more energy and at the moment more patience then him. He doesn't seem to realise that I know it's a bluff – he's running on empty but fighting to the last to prove his point, and that it's a fight which will soon be lost.

I moved to him, picked him up and hugged him tight (yes that's right, take that! Jab, jab, jab, we're still sparring here). I put him in a position where he could hear my voice and started telling him the story of the lady who swallowed the fly (a particularly relevant tale that discusses the fundamental problems with greed.... and basic pest control – you really think she would have got to the point where she's considering eating an entire cow, to catch a dog for some reason, and thought – I think this is probably a bit much. But there you go – you can eat anything you like, but if you eat an entire horse, you are going to die – lesson learned). I know that he likes the story, but more importantly, I'm drowning out the brain-piercing noise that's escaping him and letting him know that I am there, and I'm not leaving – he has nothing to worry about. But, he starts to sense the trap and he tenses up, flailing around violently, kicking his legs out, trying to get down and most likely run around. But I hold him firm, not too tight, but tight enough that he understands that I'm not going to let him down. This is probably the first indication to him that my motives here are not just to comfort him. He loosens up a little and lets me hug him, continuing the story.

As we get closer to that point at which the lady in the story's stomach is obviously about to explode, exposing dangerous digestive juices and bacteria into her insides and spelling the horrific end to her life (honestly it must be one of the worst ways to die imaginable, right? And here it is in a children's story – it's like the time I read Pinnochio to Little Mango 1 and got to the bit where the wolf and the fox decide to hang Pinnochio from a tree – that's right, I said hang him – a wooden puppet without a neck to break, what were they thinking?) - as I get close that point, I spin around and lay him in his bed and stay close to him to finish the story. He seems to take it quite well (that there was a solid punch to the nose my friend) and as the story finishes, I immediately start another one – a favourite of mine, The Magic Hat by Mem Fox (jab, jab). As the story goes on, I can see he's fighting it, he wants to keep going, to get his way, but time is just not on his side. I put my hand gently (but firmly) on his chest and keep reading. As we're getting towards the end, he has completely calmed down and now it's time to shift gears. I tuck him in and keep my hand on his chest and lie my head next to him on the bed. When he tries to get up, I gently push him back down - 'It's time for sleep.' (Aha! Now you see my motives boy, this playing nice trick was just a ruse - I'm actually trying to do just what your Mum was trying to do muhahahahahaha!) He tries to get up again - 'It's time for sleep.' He stays down this time and the room gets very quiet. So I drop back a little, now I'm resting against the bed but not on it. He finds his fifth wind, his last throes, and he jumps up, pushing his legs out of bed to try and escape... but he can't, I'm sitting there. So I quickly pick him up, with two hands, slip him back into bed, tuck him in again and rest my hand upon his chest again with that same general firmness - 'It's time for sleep (this is serious!). I then slip back to the position I was in a moment before and wait - nothing. So I slide down so I'm completely on the floor and wait for what the response will be. He still is making sure I am there, but he's not moving about doing it - he's waiting for my next move and to see if he can match it.

And then, here it is - the knock out punch - I lie down on the floor and put myself to sleep - that's right, I'm going to bore him to sleep tonight - didn't expect that, did he? He expected me to leave when he fooled me into believing he was asleep, just so he could get up a second later and go right on back to screaming and running about. But he doesn't understand that I'm a man that can just about sleep anywhere - I have successfully slept whilst standing up on the train before - I have no quarrels sleeping upon the floor - he ain't keeping me awake tonight. Now, you may think that this is him getting his own way because he's getting my attention for as much as he likes, but he isn't (although I do admit that forcing my kids to sleep by just going to sleep myself is a great way to operate of which Little Miss Mango has already caught on. Earlier this same night, after reading her a story I asked if I could sleep for a bit before leaving - she said ok.... for about five seconds, then she said - "All right. Good night Daddy." Smart little girl). Anyway the boy is not going to keep me awake so he isn't actually getting his own way, he's actually going to sleep, and he can't escape it because if he tries, I'll put him straight back where he was. There's no getting out of it - it's sleep, and that's it. Now I could fight it and make him keep screaming until he was done, or I could cuddle him all night until we were both exhausted, or I could give up and cry myself to sleep, but none of these options have any long term scope. My plan, though it may be a little annoying at the moment, can be adapted quite easily in the next stage (moving out of the room) so that eventually it's a behaviour that just won't happen at all any more. And as I'm convincing myself of this as I slip in and out of slumber, I notice the bedroom now has a steady, rhythmical noise to it - and that's both of us breathing as we sleep. I open my eyes, look over at him and see no movement, just wonderful, blissful sleep. I'll admit, I smiled just a little - BAM BAM BAM! It's a knockout! He's down for the count without even realising what hit him. And I leave the ring (room) with the title in my corner, arms in the air, dancing to the rock music of my own self satisfaction (although I did wince like a cut to the eye when the door squeaked on the way out) and retire as champion of the world.
That's one for the parents, the children - nill!