Current evening conversation in the Smith house:
Me: Noah, it's time for bed. You've got your jammies on, your teeth are brushed, and we read three books. Time to go night-night.
Noah: Ten more minutes. (Ten Mo' Mint-es)
Me: No, Noah, not ten more minutes. No more minutes. Time for bed.
Noah: One more book. (One Mo' Boo-ak)
Me: No more books, time for bed.
Noah: One more minute! (One Mo' Mint-es)
Me: TIM! Somehow this has to be all your fault!
It looks to me like Noah has begun the dreaded stalling. For a couple of months now I've been giving Noah minute warnings to let him know that a transition is coming up. "Ten more minutes until nap time." "Five more minutes until we have to get in the car." "Two more minutes until you have to give the toy to Tommy." etc. However, this approach seems to be back-firing as now HE is using them on ME. Our bedtime routine is now a half hour longer than it was a month ago. It can take up to 20 minutes just to get shoes and coats on and get out the door. I've begun padding our schedule just so we can make it places on time. All because the little dictator has learned how to stall. Pretty soon he'll be asking for water at bedtime, then he'll need an extra kiss and hug and a "new blankie". I really thought we had a few more months until this affliction hit our house.
Me: Noah, it's nap time. Let's go upstairs.
Noah: No! Noah singing! Ten more minutes.