Letters from Kamp Krusty

The Krusty Sage: Should You "Shelter" Your Kids?

Yes.

Duh.

The Krusty Sage and the Mrs. Krusty Sage homeschool their kids.  (Mostly Mrs. Krusty Sage, to be straight-up honest, yo.)  The K.S. does NOT care whether you homeschool or not.  Don't want to?  Can't?  Whatev, man.  Your kids, your situation, your call.

But please spare the K.S. your concern that he "shelters" his kids.  Why yes, we do.  Thanks.  Glad you're concerned.  By the way:  If you don't shelter your kids, you're a traitor.

Remember the Sam Kinison sketch on SNL?  He's a kindergarten teacher, and a shiny, happy mom and dad walk in for their first Parent-Teacher conference.  He tells them their daughter is seriously whack.  They can't believe it.  How?  Why?

He shows them a picture she drew, with a happy little house, and a smiley-faced sun in the sky.  "See this?!  This is insane!"  They don't get it.  So he walks them over to the class window.

"Look at the sun up there.  Can you see it?  Let me ask you a question:  IS THERE A SMILEY FACE ON THE SUN?"

He then launches into a tirade about sheltered kindergarteners, unaware of the gritty real world.  "That's why I've chosen THIS text," he says, slamming down a thick tome.  "It's about the REAL WORLD!  VIETNAM!  Lying in a trench in the mud, watching your friend get his head blown off!"

Yeah, man, Vietnam.  The real world, man.  Get those kids exposed, now.  As if there's not a season for everything, as if childhood isn't fit for children, as if "sheltering" weren't one of the things you are precisely charged with doing as a parent.

If you don't shelter your kids, you're a traitor.  Maybe I mentioned that.  "Shelter", "protect" -- what's the dif, dad?

Maybe it matters what you show them on TV.  Maybe it matters that a six year-old may not be ready to watch the new Batman movie, or that your 13 year-old son is seriously wondering why you're not creeped out by watching a sex scene on TV along with him in the room.  Maybe your daughter actually does absorb foolishness from Seventeen and MTV, and maybe that matters.

("But I watched some sex scenes when I was a kid and some inappropriate shows and I turned out okay, and --"  Really?  You're "okay", huh?  You sure?  The K.S. wouldn't even say he's "okay".  But you are?  Neat.)

Maybe allowing your 14 year-old a computer in his room isn't really helping him learn the "real world", but about fake women, and he's in there sabotaging his future marriage, and you're letting it happen because you're a) breathtakingly naive, or b) you're not man enough to "shelter".

It's your job to shelter, pops.  And if you think the mindless entertainment/consumption lifestyle is somehow "the real world", the K.S. is going to get out of his big, awesome, wooden chair and hit you with it.

The K.S. has a friend who was seriously concerned about how the Sage family hadn't let his kids watch "Superbad" yet, in addition to not exposing them to the "real" world of mass age-stratifed education.  The same friend later said his dad had shown him porno mags when he was seven.  No sheltering there, huh?

Another friend once worked at a pre-school with both Amish and non-Amish children.  They occasionally showed Disney videos to the kids, but the friend got a warning:  "Be careful and make sure you watch the Amish kids closely.  They aren't used to movies, so they can take things too seriously and get emotional."  Weird, huh?

-- except it's not the Amish kids who were weird.  They lived in a real world.  A different one, sure.  A "sheltered" one, sure.  But far, far more real than Ariel and Belle.   They aren't the odd ones.  They're children.  Childhood has it's own seasons, its own rhythm, its own implicit modesties, and, if allowed, its own sweet, and more real, charms.

So here's an idea:  DO show your kids the real world --  in time, in season, and informed by wisdom.  Help them to understand, from the outset, that some things aren't appropriate for them yet, but will be in time.  Take them out of the country to the third world.  Give them lots of great (usually not modern) books.  Gradually give them more and more latitude as they demonstrate their own wisdom, with the goal of producing a well-formed, free-thinking, independent adult by their very late teens.

Here's the downside:  In order to do this, properly, you'll actually have to know them -- really know them.  May mean giving up your awesome car or house and getting a different job.  Sorry.  Also means you can't watch a bunch of crap on TV yourself.  Sorry. 

That's one problem with helping people grow up:  You have to be a grown-up.

The Krusty Sage: Quit Buying Crap You Can't Afford Just "Because It's Christmas." Sheesh.

"Oh, but it's Christmas!  It's a special time of the year!  I know, we're in debt, overall, but it's Christmas, and that's only once a year, and -- "

"And..." you're an idiot.  Seriously.

------------------

The Sage says it in love.  The Sage also says, in love, that if you spend $150 on your kid for Christmas when you don't have $150, you're not only giving your kid a neat-o Nano, you're giving your kid a gift that keeps on giving:  The gift of foolishness, surrounded by beautiful lights, the scent of pine, and fudge.  The gift of foolishness, on display, etched in memory.  Ah.

Yes, Target and Apple and Best Buy don't advertise many $30 gifts, and they've ratcheted up the expectation level for Christmas.  But -- last time I checked -- your will remains free.  This means you don't have to be an idiot.

Yes, your parents may have overspent every year as you grew up.  Yes, they may have been Baby Boomers, seeking to atone for parental guilt, for one or another reason.  Yes, there may have been stacks of presents under your tree.  Yes, you think this is way Christmas "is supposed to be". 

Yes, so what.

Christmas is not "supposed to be" you, buying stuff you don't have money for.  Sorry.  If you're a dad, and feel bad because you can't spend hundreds on everybody, tell them you don't have the money for it, and you'll still have a great Christmas.  If that makes you feel bad, man up.  You're being bullied by a bunch of advertising majors. 

Gee, you're in debt?  How'd that happen?  This is a mystery.  Someone call a C.S.I. unit.  Maybe they can figure out what happened.  Maybe they can piece it together.

Or maybe you bought a bunch of crap.  Maybe you should stop it.   Maybe Christmas isn't special at all.  Maybe it's just the latest excuse to overspend.  Gee.  Huh.  Wow.  Gosh.  You think?

"Okay, we're in debt, and yeah, we did buy a $1,200 TV, but it's not that simple, because sometimes --"

No, it is that simple.  Sorry.  Next?

"But everyone at my kids' school gets tons of expensive gifts like 360s and Wiis and stuff and -- "  Are you in debt?  "Well, yes, but it's not that simple, and -- "

Nope.  It's that simple. 

"But it's not realistic to spend only $20 per person in this day and age, and -- "  Why?  "It's just not that simple, and -- "

Waah. 

If you don't have the money for it, you don't buy it.  Don't act like your kid "needs" a Zune, either.  It has nothing to do with "needs", or even your kid, really.  It has everything to do with you:  Your desire to have some kind of "perfect Christmas", your guilt, your insecurities, your conflict-avoidance, your expectations, and you know, just generally...you. 

Bottom line:  You wish you a merry Christmas.

"But didn't the 'wise men' bring GOLD to baby Jesus? And fancy myrrh and stuff?  That was extravagant, and -- "  They were royalty.  You think they used a Discover Card?

"But isn't 'Christmas' in the Bible, and -- " No. 

Sheesh.

The Krusty Sage: Get All Exorcised Over Halloween

Satan's big day is coming up.  It's October, you know.

Make sure you get all atwitter about it.  Satan took over October 31st, previously known as a day created by God, and now he owns it.  He also owns pumpkins, kids going to neighbor's doors, and -- sadly -- fun-size candy.

"Fun-size"?  Sin-size, folks.

Of course, you could use the occasion to tell your kids about redemption, how God "buys us back", even after we've been soiled, ruined, broken, or misused.  Or, you could just freak them out.

You see:  Halloween has pagan roots.  Yep.  This is why you should have nothing to do with it.  It really does.  If you really researched it, you'd see Halloween is pagan.  Did you know that?  Seriously.  You should not be like pagans. 

...and this is why you should also swear off tea.  Tea was made to be imbibed by Buddhists, and that, obviously, immediately brings to mind two things, 1) you should swear off Nestea, because it's rooted in pagan religious ritual, and 2) "Imbibed by Buddhists" is a totally killer name for the K.S.'s next band.

And swear off some kinds of stretching.  Not all, just the yoga ones.  And martial-arts.  And the theater. 

And Thursday, which is named for Thor, Norse God of Scary Something-or-Other, or Monday, or Tuesday, or Wednesday, or Sunday, or Friday, named after Frigg, Goddess of Fertility, and With a Name Like "Frigg", She Must've Been Hott.

And Saturday, too, which as I've noted, is rooted in paganism.  "Saturn" is the Roman equivalent of the Greek god "Cronus", who, besides being a lovable prankster, ate his kids. 

And get thee and thy Saturn GL Wagon behind me.  (GL.  Hmmm.  "GodLess" starts with G.L.  Draw your own conclusions.)

June is right out.  "Juno" is "Hera", and Hera was a goddess who -- and I've researched this in-depth -- probably killed somebody or called down lightning on Troy or at least cut in line or something.  Count on it.

And the K.S. regrets that marathon he ran.  He didn't know about the pagan roots.  The early marathons were run as a tribute to Pan, who was a creepy, flute-playing creature, which, as the K.S. thinks about it, kind of sounds like the K.S.   But the point is, it was a pagan celebration. 

(The K.S. also didn't know he wasn't supposed to judge a chili cook-off the night before his marathon, and he made seven bathroom stops during his run.  True story.  But that's not the point.)

Anyway, no playing cards, either.  No candles and greenery at Christmas, no Christmas trees.  But you knew that.  Pagan.  And pagans aren't Christians.

In fact -- and hang onto your mortarboards, here -- research has recently confirmed that many of the people born before Jesus were not Christians.  A disturbingly high percentage were not plugged-in to small groups, either, and almost none volunteered to serve in the nursery without being strong-armed.

These pre-Christians did some pre-Christian stuff.  So be consistent, and get rid of all that stuff.  Don't just start at giving the K.S. a hard time because his daughter dressed up as a butterfly or an iPod.  That's just the beginning.

Oh -- one other thing.  Satan doesn't just own Halloween.  In fact, the Church of Satan says it's not even their high holiday!  You know what a Satanist's high holiday is, each year?  Guess.

His birthday.  Or her birthday.  It's a fact.  Ask them.

Maybe it's because Satan doesn't want you to worship him, or even believe in him.  No, he wants you to worship yourself.  Your life, your problems, your drama, your rules, your beautiful mind, your legalism, your biases, your agenda, your pride, your judgments, your everything.   

He wants you, thinking you're in control, saving the world, super-busy, because the Kingdom will fail without you.  It's all about you.  Happy birthday, you important person, you.

So no more birthdays, no more gift-buying.  But let's wait a couple weeks on that.  The K.S.'s is October 11th.

Krusty Sage: Your Kids Don't Need Your Stupid Success Track

Your kids don't need your stupid success track. 

Quit signing them up for a bunch of garbage and racing them around everywhere, and then griping about how you "just don't have any time anymore to eat dinner together", blah blah blah.

You had time.  You gave it away, because you're afraid. 

Don't send them to schools that brag about their academic "rigor" (ie, "We'll load them down with homework so you'll think we're rigorous"), let them sign up for multiple sports and extra-curriculars and then complain about how hard it is to be a kid these days. 

It's possible -- just possible -- that's it's not so hard to be "a" kid these days as it is your kid.

Gasp!  But what if they don't get into a good college?  What if we don't sign them up for myriad art lessons and soccer-specific-weight-training programs in the offseason and dance classes and computer camps and calculus tutorials and the traveling baseball team?  How will we develop their skill areas?

You're not here to develop skill areas, pops.  You're here to develop character.

You can't develop character if you're crazy-busy developing stupid skill areas. 

But how will the kids' survive in the global marketplace?  And --

Right.  You honestly think they're not going to "make it" somehow if you don't hustle them around like the world's going to blow up in ten minutes?  You honestly think it's your job to impart career-training at all costs?  Where -- honestly, where -- did you get this idea?

You think your kid will starve to death if you don't send him to a high-tech school with state-of-the-art laptops?  (Ooh, laptops!  Quality education!)  Like it's really hard to learn to double-click?  How did I figure it out? 

You're not here to develop skills.  You are here to develop character.  That means spending lots and lots of time with you kid.  You.  Not some hired expert.  You.

But my kid WANTS to do all this stuff, she loves her lessons and band and her sports and the homework and her job and --

Yeah, and when she was a baby, you let her diet consist entirely of Smarties, because she liked them, right?  Kids -- even teenagers -- are not often rich in wisdom.  Maybe you noticed.  Maybe this is why you are still rightly called the "parent".  They just might need you to draw an actual line, and model a life unmotivated by fear of fitting into corporate America, uncluttered by do-it-all-ism, and all about people.

But you don't understand.  It's today's society, and all kids just have these demands and there's no way around it, and it's just our culture these days, and --

And if our culture jumped off the Empire State Building...

You know, you COULD be counter-cultural.  You could help them avoid a crippling performance-perfectionism when they get older.  They might even choose lifestyles that eschew materialism for relationships.  Maybe they could value people over achievements.

Who knows?  Maybe you still could, too.

The Krusty Sage Speaks: Shut Up and Change Diapers

(Per usual:  The Krusty Sage has no one in particular in mind here.  Not sure why you'd be offended anyway, but just thought I'd say that.)

So you got little kids.  Everything -- every single, stinking, thing -- is a hassle.

You miss hanging out with other adults.  So another family invites you over for a simple dinner.  But getting out the door is a logistical nightmare, on the order of Operation Iraqi Freedom.  Procuring a babysitter requires more energy than "date night" seems to be worth.  You can't go anywhere, even out for a quick coffee with somebody, without lengthy, Kissinger-esque negotatiating and bargaining over who's really due the time "off". 

Dinnertime through bedtime?  Brutal.  You want to bail with your laptop. 

I know how this goes down.

But it gets better.  I'm serious.  Suck it up.  This WILL pass.  So embrace it.

Change diapers -- lots of them.  There's no better time to tickle a kid.  They can't squirm away.  You've got 'em.  (Krusty Tip:  Put your face on the baby's stomach, and make big raspberry noises with your mouth on his tummy.  He'll go crazy.  Another Krusty Tip:   He won't let you do this when he's 13.)

The dirty diaper smell bothers you?  You'll get used to it.  Don't be so queasy.  Be an actual man.  That smell is the smell of a child who's living.

Help your wife chill.  Keep injecting humor into the chaos.  This time does not last.  It gets better, I promise.  She'll positively love you for this, and she won't forget it, either.

Don't be a traitor and blow your marriage, either.  For some reason, the K.S. has known several guys who picked THIS time of life to cheat on their wives.  Yes, home is stressful.  Yes, your wife is busy and tired and maybe cranky.  She's in a battle.  HELP HER, man.  It will get better.  Tell her that, too.

Ignore the "Just wait until..." people.  Tell them to shut their big yaps.

Everybody told the K.S., "Get your sleep now!  Just wait 'til that first baby is born!"  Yeah, just wait.  Just wait!  Then, it's "Just wait until they're able to crawl around -- THEN, life gets really hard."  And, "Just wait until they're two years old..." and "Just wait until they get verbal skills and can sass back," and "Well, just wait until they're pre-teens, because..." and "Well, just wait until you have TEENAGERS, because that's when it REALLY gets tough, and..."

Krusty Sage and Krusty Wife now have a teenager.  I can't get enough of him.  He's smart, hilarious, cool, wonderfully sarcastic (Praise God), plays djembe to K.S.'s guitar, and battles me at NFL Street 2.   I know:  "Just wait until he's sixteen, and..."  Know what?  I can't wait.

Those "Just wait until..." people?  They were brats. 

Every stage has been a better stage.  No stage lasts very long.  Savor them, man.  Having a kid is not an 18-year long haul.  It's a series of little hauls.  That kid you have now?  Goodbye.  She won't be the same kid six months from now. 

Tuck your newborn's head under your chin and let her sleep on your chest.  Because, I'm telling you, as soon as her pudgy little arms get the strength, she'll start pushing off.   That's in a few weeks, sir.  That's what they do. They're rockets, and your chest is a launchpad, and they push off, a little further, and a little further, and it never stops, until they're quite literally out of sight. 

They're launching, and from the first separation stage to the blackness of space, it's all good. 

Change diapers.  Quit whining.  There's hope.  It gets better.  Very soon.  Honest. 

Just wait.

The Krusty Sage Gets Physical

(This, again, is directed at no one in particular, but it is written for the male mind.  Women aren't going to like this one bit, even though it's true for them, too.  So please don't read it.  Thank you.)

The Sage is writing a diet book.  It's fresh, new, life-giving, revolutionary, and based on cutting-edge research about how to live a healthy, trim lifestyle.  It's called, Quit Eating Crap and Move Around.

You can actually do this.  In my chapter called "Don't Eat Corn Chips", I'll outline a step-by-step approach to not eating chips:

1.  Don't eat corn chips.

If you do eat chips, or pie, or fries, or candy bars, or drink Coke, or whatever, and don't exercise, don't turn around and tell the Sage you can't figure out why you're getting fat.  Breaking science news, folks, start the ticker:  ....soda...makes...you...fat...details...upcoming....

"But it's not that simple, and it's not a matter of will-power, and..." 

Uh-huh.  Why, just today, I slipped up and ordered fries.  Woops!  Who saw that coming?  I accidentally ordered fries, and had them delivered to me!  Yesterday, I accidentally got a grocery cart, went to the chip aisle, selected my favorite chips, put them in my cart, carried to the car, drove to the house, loaded half the bag into my face, and then accidentally used a Chip Clip(TM) to save a few for later.  Wups.

If you consume more calories than you expend, you will gain weight.  It's not complex.  Slow metabolism?  Yeah, the Krusty Sage has one, too.  So the Sage moves around and doesn't eat Big Macs.

If you eat a bunch of chemical crap, your body will be built of chemical crap.  The K-to-the-S hates broccoli, but he's not three years old, and can choke it down without too much wailing.  Give it a try!

Weird thing: You start eating the stuff, it gets easier.  You stop drinking Pepsi, and then come back to it?  Makes you queasy.  Why?  It's full of complete garbage.

And Diet Coke makes you hungrier, and eats your brain.  Here's an idea:  Water.  Tap water, even.  Oooh...scary!  What are we, peasants?  Tap water?

Our culture is food-sick.  So sick you're not even supposed to talk about it without using therapy terms.  Everybody goes, sequentially, for stupid fad diets, one no-carbs/all-carbs/all-protein/all-grapefruit/blah blah blah/piece of avoidance after another.

Move around.  We're made to walk 10,000 steps a day.  So do it, or don't wonder why you're putting on so much weight.  Your genetics do not stop you from exercising, and do not make you pull over at Krispy Kreme.

The Sage loves it when some guy says, "Yeah, I wish I could eat whatever I want like you and not get fat."  Loves it...as he chokes down his broccoli, and spends a stupid hour every day lifting dumb weights and running down the street like an sweaty idiot.

It's not genetics.  The rest of the planet does not have radically different genes.  They are, however, getting fatter as they eat like us.  Figure it.

Yes, there are worse things in the world than being overweight.  We've all got our problems, and frankly, K.S. doesn't care if you're overweight.  C'est la vie.  But -- sorry, expert culture -- it ain't a mystery.

Quit eating crap and move around.

The Krusty Sage, Pt. 3: You Don't NEED a Stupid New Car

You don't need a new car.  Ever.  Sorry.

You think you do.  But you don't.  So don't add stress to your family for one.

"But, Krusty Sage, I have to drive a lot of miles, and if I bought a car that wasn't new it'd cost more to maintain it, so I do need one, and plus it's safer and they have zero-percent financing so it's cheaper and -- "

Yeah.  Snicker.  Keep talking and maybe you'll believe yourself.

It's not "cheaper" than paying cash for an old Corolla for $1500.  I'm sorry.  You don't *have* to have car payments.  You choose them.  Then you serve them.  Your call.  Man up, and don't act like you had no choice.

"But it's NOT wrong to own a nice, new car, and I resent people who just hate nice things, and try to lay down a guilt trip, and --"

Bogus argument.  The Krusty Sage did not say it's wrong to have an awesome car.  Some people can lay down cash.  He says you don't need it, you're choosing it, so at least be honest.  You're indebting your family because you want to.

Heck, the Krusty Sage would, himself, like to see the Sage behind the wheel of one of those new Pontiac Solstice convertibles.  He can picture his awesome white beard moving through the wind.  But he doesn't need one.  So if you're choosing it, and then complaining about how you need your wife to be working because of your financial situation, know you chose it, and you didn't need to.  Nice.

It so happens that the K-to-the-S very much could buy the Solstice (on payments), but it would mean more stress for the fam, and what's the point of that?  Granted, he'd look pretty dang cool, robes-a-flowin', cruising down A1A, drawing admiring glances of wisdom-seeking babes on a sunny SoFla Saturday morning, but what price coolness?   

How lame, how weak of ego, how juvenile, is the dude that thinks he's got to be cool, who's so concerned what others think, at the expense of his wife.  Lame, lame, lame.  Sorry. 

"But my wife actually wants a new car and..." 

Oh, so you'll make dumb decisions for the family as long as your wife likes it.  Nice leadership, Churchill.

You CAN drive an old car.  You DON'T have to make car payments.  '92 Sentra not nice enough for you?  Not cool enough for you?  What, are you James Bond? 

It's relationships, relationships, relationships, doof.  The clock is ticking.

There.  Sheesh.

The Krusty Sage, Pt. 2

I'm hereby offering advice to no one in particular.  No one asked for it, and no one should vainly imagine themselves its intended audience.  So be not offended.  I didn't have you in mind.  You probably think this song is about you?  Don't you?  Don't you?

Your Kids Don't Need a Stupid College Fund

I know, you think it's irresponsible.  It's not.  Your kids don't need a stupid college fund.

"But isn't college important, and what about careers and...blah blah blah, boo-hoo-hoo?"

Well, sure.  But not nearly as important as everyone makes it out to be. 

And if your kid goes to college -- awesome.  But if not -- and I'm quoting the Great Writer, the one who wrote the theme from Diff'rent Strokes, here:  "Doesn't matter that you got not a lot, so what?  They'll have theirs, you'll have yours, and I'll have mine."

This, of course, is high cultural heresy.  Wonderful, crisp, light and refreshing -- cultural heresy.  (About which I now misappropriate the sayers of sooth in Family Force 5:  "I want it, I love it, can't get enough of it.")

You're not charged with getting your kid a college education.  You're not charged with ensuring your kid is a successful American.  You're charged with the development of your kid's character.

"But it's still important to go to college and..." -- whatever.  If you've got money to put away for this purpose, great.  Congrats.  But that's a far cry from what some people do:  Working themselves to the bone, stressing out both mom and dad, taking on extra hours -- to make sure their kid gets into this-or-that school for future career purposes.

That misses the point.  You have them NOW.  You're needed NOW.  They need you to chill NOW, and quit modeling that the point of our existence is career advance NOW, before they internalize the lie.

"But what if they don't make enough money and --?"

See anyone starving to death?  Not sure but -- yes, yes, this is the U.S.  And this would be the society that's trying to educate its poorest to stop so often paying others to cook for them, to alleviate chronic obesity.  They'll be fine.  Maybe they could (horrors) go to community college for a couple years before transferring somewhere.  Whatever.

Education is good.  Knowledge is great.  (I wouldn't be chilling here with this dusty book and awesome white beard if I didn't think that, chump.)  And nice stuff is nice (like this hizzy-rocking wood chair-thing.) But if your kid becomes a Doctor but she doesn't truly know you, and your real love for your neighbors, well, you missed the point, and you don't get do-overs. 

You've got them now.

We'd all like more money, more prestige, but it's not the point.  And if you believe that last sentence, quit acting like you don't.  What you believe is what you do, not what you say.

There. Sheesh.

Ancient Wisdom for No One in Particular

I'm hereby offering advice to no one in particular.  No one asked for it, and no one should vainly imagine themselves its intended audience.  So be not offended.  I didn't have you in mind.  You probably think this song is about you?  Don't you?  Don't you?

Put Your Dang Kids to Bed

Seriously.  You can do it.

If you want to have a marriage with some zing, put your dang kids to bed.  Put them to bed EARLY. Put them to bed on time, the same time, every night, and make them stay there. 

Then, go goof off with your wife.  Laugh and talk and unwind and watch "Walker, Texas Ranger" until you can't laugh anymore.  Be unproductive.  Smooch.  Do this every night.

Your kids need to sleep, and they can sleep.  They actually don't have to get up every ten minutes.  They're just doing that to get attention and delay bedtime.  Don't allow it, or you're a pansy.

This gives you -- and, more importantly, your wife -- some peaceful time, every day, to look forward to.  Moreover, it lets you stay happily married.  She's under less stress, you have time to connect, life is good, your marriage means something, and you remember you're not just roomies with junior-size roomies running around.

Don't just "help" with bedtime.  Supervise it, entirely.  Let your wife use that time as wind-down time, or to take care of last-minute things.  Kids will want to make bedtime an endless parade of traditions, too, in order to stave it off.  Don't let this happen.  Make it as simple a process as possible.  If you want to read a story, awesome!  Just start early enough that the lights go off at the appointed time.  Your kids will start to complain.  Too bad.  Lights off.  Sweet dreams.  Buh-bye.

Let them know that your time with your wife trumps all other considerations, and, after their bedtime, they are "other considerations."   Kids resist this, but -- deep down -- positively love it.

7 p.m. is not too early for young children.  Give yourself a couple hours together, not one or two nights a week, but five or six. 

If she's stressed out every night, because of her job, let her quit her job.  If you can't afford it, afford it.  Sell stuff.  Move.  Rent.  Forget the college fund.  Don't buy dumb cars and houses and stuff to make yourself feel cool, and miss out on a joyous, stress-limited marriage.  She can take care of herself.  It'll give her time, and energy, to love her children, her neighbors, and you.

So you bought her a nice car?  Who gives a rip?  She'd rather drive an old mini-van and have you around, living life together at a sweet, beautiful pace.  Even if she doesn't think she wants this, she does.

Quit buying crap and live in a trailer if you have to.  And put your trailer-kids to bed, for crying out loud.  Don't let them get up unless it's an emergency.  Smooch your wife.

There.  Sheesh.