I find myself in one of four moods when putting my 4- and 6-year-old sons down to bed at night:

1) Philosophical. This comes at the most inconvenient moments. Usually when their father has insisted we all get to bed early to ensure him a good morning’s hunt on opening day. I can’t help myself. I get the bug to talk about life’s big questions. The children respond with high spirits.

They can examine anything under the sun and they will. “‘How is a windowsill made, you say?’ Why it all starts with a little seed in the ground,” I say. Grasp these brief fleeting moments when you don’t know much more than them, but they are yet unaware. Go crazy and throw in your theory on window hinging and curtain hanging while you're at it. They’ll think you’re God himself. (Note: Be wary the slippery slope of having to explain God himself. This will immediately out you for the numbnut you are.)

Let the children pelt you with their questions, soak it in, have fun with your answers. Recreate the world you live in, render it to your liking, discard those little things known as facts. The sky is blue because it’s made of blueberries. Completely logical to nearly all children and even some adults. The grass grows because your father never mows it. I urge you to use these little scientific explorations to further your agenda with your spouse.

When you don’t know an answer or can’t even think up a really good wrong one, magic, up until age 8 or 9, is a totally reasonable answer. In fact, it seems to be the one ironclad explanation to where babies come from. Use this often. It’s your rightful duty to fill children with the wonder of magic before their 5th grade teacher ruins it for them.

2) Nostalgic. This is an ugly mess to get yourself into. In the soft romantic light of a poorly painted night-light built from a $4.99 craft kit from Target, your children can take on an angelic likeness. Resist this happenstance at all costs. It will make you forgive them all their sins and wipe the slate clean. I believe this is some of that magic we talked about in No. 1 handed down by God himself.

I can usually keep this annoying mood from striking me by focusing on the shitass things they did to me all day. But, out of nowhere, it can strike. You’ll see their pretty eyelashes flutter down and cover their manic eyes and think, They’re cute looking all unconscious like that. Next thing you know, you’ll be remembering all the cute things they do and say. Soon, you’re stroking their face. Then you hold your breath because they are so incredibly cute and fragile your heart might break into a million pieces. You are also secretly hoping if you hold your breath long enough, they’ll think you’re asleep or dead and finally drift off to sleep.

Once they are out, you get bolder. You discover you can kiss their cheeks ever so lightly without detection. Then a little harder. They don’t move. Delighted, you kiss harder yet, this time on their forehead, left ear and chin. No movement! They are out like the bad night-light you just kicked out with your heel. You slither your arm under their neck and pull them in tight to you. You squeeze until you worry you’ve broken a rib. Maybe two. Then, you lay them down again and just watch. Ohmygod, children are miracles.

By now, at least 10 minutes have passed and you’ve worked yourself into a frenzy of counted blessings and untold regrets. You’ve sworn you’ll be the best mom ever starting now, or at least in the morning if they don’t wake you up too early. You will cherish them and quit your job and spend every waking moment serving them, making them laugh and cooking only the best for them. Pizza dough made right from powder, no more take-out, you cheer in your head. You aren’t doing this halfway anymore, no siree. You will never let them down again. It’s one of those moments you never want to end.

And then, they cough. You drop them like a hot potato. You are out of the room so fast you rip the blankets off them. You are gone before they can decipher if the mauling was a bad dream or you, yet again. Nothing ruins the mood like the little shits waking up.

3) Combative. This bedding down involves a lot of yelling, threatening and giggling. The more you threaten, the more they giggle. This forces you to go to outlandish lengths to make your point. “You will go to bed or I will take away all your trains and dismantle your train set,” I bellow. (Note: bellowing is a sure misstep.) The 6-year-old takes this moment to point out that the battery is dead in the power drill and that my wrists are weak and slight. I take this moment to appreciate my delicate wrists and thank him. You’ll want to refrain from Combative when you can, however, as it casts you as a mean and vicious woman with no limits. No reason for them to realize you are a mean and vicious woman with no limits quite yet.

The children like to induce this mood by jumping in the bed, farting under the covers and elbowing you in the face, sometimes all at once. This is when those little pamphlets about child abuse come to mind and you think that counting to 10 isn’t as likely to help as much as a baseball bat might. You’ll find yourself quickly going through your index of shut-them-up tricks in your head. None of them will work. You can’t buy them off, give them candy or turn on SpongeBob. This is the be-all end-all performance of each day. It’s down to you and them.

For this performance, you’ll try reading a book during which one of them will punch the back of the book so that it hits your face and you’ll freak out. But just for a moment before regaining your composure. You’ll check over your shoulder to make sure their father didn’t see you go completely bananas over such a minor infraction, smooth out the pages and begin reading again. This time the other one will find something that looks like a booger or a piece of crap in the picture and venture a tentative… “is that... shit?” to the uproarious approval of his brother.

After this you’ll start to question your entire modeling of parenting. You might even feel like weeping. (You’ll have time to weep later as you lay there in the dark next to them while they continue giggling over the shit comment.) Any halfwit mother at this point will pull out a good ol’ fashioned lullaby to save her pride. But you’ll get halfway through “Rock a bye baby” and realize your favorite line is where the baby hits the ground. You’ll promptly wrap things up and put them to bed for the umpteenth time. You’ll turn out the light. And the giggling will start again.

My advice? Let them bounce on the bed until their father comes raging down the hallway to see “what the hell is going on.” Try to hide in the closet, under the bed or inside a desk drawer before his arrival. Believe me, you’ll hear him coming and have plenty of notice to choose your spot. Do not, I repeat, do not leave the room. The fun for you is just about to begin as you watch him “take care of business” and “teach them a lesson,” such as a quick nature lesson on “acting like a couple animals” and seeing him work some arithmetic with them to see "if they know how much those damn beds cost.” Take satisfaction in watching your husband come apart at the seams.

4) Orderly. Just kidding. I’ve never put my children to bed in an orderly manner. Do not trust any woman who says she has. Do not let her pull the “magic” crap on you. That’s your bag of tricks, not hers.