Spoiled Children

I have come to the conclusion that my children are spoiled. I never had any intention of spoiling them, but it somehow happened, nonetheless. Don't get me wrong. They are not mean. They are not rotten little urchins. As a matter of fact, Lucas' teacher told us recently at his parent/teacher conference that Lucas was one of the most respectful kids in his class. So they are not spoiled in a disagreeable, nasty sort of way. They don't even realize that they are acting spoiled, but they most certainly are. They think the world revolves around them and should, therefore, bend to their every whim.

Case in point: My daughter Sophie
I try to make sure my children are in bed by 8:00 on school nights....sometimes 7:30 if they are really getting on my nerves. I allow them to keep their bedside lamps on for a while if they want, however. Lucas and Sophie like to look at books in bed and Nicky likes to color in bed. I have no problem with this as long as they stay in their rooms. Every night when I put Sophie to bed, I will pick out 4-5 books from her bookshelf for her to look at in bed. She always makes me "surprise" her and them she will put them in order from her least favorite to her favorite. Sometimes she will make me return one to the bookshelf and pick out another one if I inadvertantly chose one that was not really her favorite.

After I get the kids all tucked snugly in bed, I will usually sit down in the living room and play on my laptop. It's kind of my "mommy decompression" time. I will cuddle up under a blanket with my laptop in my lap. I will sip my Diet Pepsi. I will Facebook. I will read blogs. I will shop online (sshhh...don't tell Ruanita). It's my "me" time. Inevitably, however, within about twenty minutes or so of tucking her in, I will hear Sophie's little voice coming from her bedroom.

"Mommy, I need more books." Sophie's room is small and her bookshelf sits right at the foot of her bed.
"Okay," I yell back. "Get up and get you some books."
"But mommy, I am comfy. I don't want to get up."
"Sophie, I am comfy too. Get up and get you some books."
"But I don't want to. I am warm and comfy. If I get up, my blankies will mess up. I need you to get them for me."
"Sophie, you will be fine. You can straighten your blankets back out."
"No I can't, "she whines. "If I get up, my blankies will get all messed up and I will not be comfy anymore."
"You will survive. I am not coming in there."

At this point, I typically try to ignore her. Unfortunately, my only daughter is not easily ignored. She may quiet for a few minutes, but she always eventually resumes her obnoxious pleading.

"Mommy, I still need more books."
"Sophie Elizabeth, go to sleep."
A few minutes of silence.
"Mooooomm-myyyyy."
"I hear you Sophie, but I am not coming in there. I am comfy too."
"Mommy, I need more books and I am too comfy to get up."

At this point, I will typically give in. There is no getting around the fact that I will have to get up. Either to get her books, or after the fact to reposition her blankets so that she remains "comfy." After all, isn't Sophie's comfort my ultimate concern?