“Dad… Daddy?”

“What?”

“Can you get Mom?”

“We’re off duty, Mason. Go to sleep.”

That was at 8:50 p.m. tonight, a full 35 minutes after we had started bedtime preparations.

We’ve tried multiple tactics. Tonight was the get-em-ready-early-and-let-them-read-(or listen to music or play the Gameboy)-after prayers technique. It is Lost night after all. Mommy and Daddy had an appointment with the television.

Our perpetual challenge is reserving enough Mommy-and-Daddy time. Some nights, because we’re both working parents with home offices, it’s a double date with the laptops. Other evenings, the agenda is simplified to a leisurely glass of wine or beer, and cozy time on the couch.

Slowly but surely, though, the urchins have been encroaching on adult-time territory. There have even been some nights when we surrender to Mr. Sandman, and simply go to bed.

So tonight, with Lost looming, we tried to get out in front of the lengthening bedtime ritual. At 8:15 I announced the night’s tactic, received an approving nod from Brandy, and prompted the boys to get in their PJs and brush their teeth.

Here’s what transpired:

Mason: “Sam, you want to watch Garfield?”

“Mason… PJs!”

Mason ran upstairs, and repeated the invitation to Sam, much to our consternation. We couldn’t hear rest of the conversation. A few minutes later, we were encouraged when Mason returned downstairs to brush his teeth — or so we thought. Still, no sign of Sam, though.

“Sam, are you getting in your PJs?”

“Just a minute. I’m just finishing this level (on the Gameboy) for Ben.” He comes downstairs a couple of minutes later, and hands the Gameboy to Benjamin.

“Benjamin, put the Gameboy down. You can play it in bed after prayers. Go brush your teeth. Sam will help you with your (toothpaste and) toothbrush. Thanks, Sam.”

“Your welcome.”

“Mason, did you brush your teeth?”

“Yes.”

“Let me see those pearly whites.”

As Mason was walking into the kitchen, he confessed that he might have missed a spot.

“Well, go brush them again, please. Full (sand) timer this time.”

Teeth brushed, everyone shuffled upstairs at 8:30 on the dot. So far, the plan was working. Brandy and I followed. I even remembered to bring a water bottle for Benjamin, again with an approving nod from Brandy. We were on our game, and headed for our appointment with Lost. When we arrived, though, Sam was finishing another level for Benjamin.

“Sam, please put that on pause until after prayers.”

“Daddy, can you please get me some fresh water?” Mason asked, after spying the water bottle I’d brought upstairs for Benjamin.

“I just saw you drinking from that water bottle on the window sill.”

“But it’s warm.”

“Then go dump it out and put cold water in it.”

Mason headed downstairs, but returned to ask for help with unscrewing the cap. A conversation over the muscular benefits of spinach ensued. Mason went back downstairs to refill the water bottle, and returned for help with screwing the cap back on. Sam meanwhile, had returned to playing the Gameboy.

“Sam, please, I asked you to put it on pause until after prayers.”

“OK… I put it in sleep mode.”

“Perfect. Thanks.”

Benjamin immediately stared at me like he was about to break into a tantrum. We reminded him that he would be allowed to play the Gameboy after prayers. He jumped around a bit, but no tantrum broke out. Meanwhile, Brandy reminded Mason that he still had to put away the sweatshirt that was lingering from the clean laundry pile, which he had put on the floor instead of in his closet.

“OK, Benjamin, start us off.”

Prayers finally were said, plus or minus another reminder and emotional moment or two. Hugs and kisses were shared. Brandy and I headed downstairs, exhausted, but just in time to do a few things before Lost.

And then came Mason’s beckon to Mom.

You’d think after my off-duty declaration, that would have been the end of it for the night. Not so. Rarely is. Down came Benjamin, angry that I had swapped out water bottles on him. So I fetched the empty sport bottle I had grabbed from next to his bed, filled it with water, and sent him on his way, demanding that he stay up there for the rest of the night. He agreed, slapping me five on his way up the stairs.

I had wondered to myself the previous night — another lengthy one in bedtime adventures — about what bedtime will be like when the boys are all putting themselves to bed. There will come a time when the prayers will no longer be part of the ritual. They won’t want to be tucked in, and Brandy and I will get more adult time in our evenings.

We’ll savor the latter, I’m sure. But as frustrating and disorderly as bedtimes can be, we’ll miss nights like tonight, too.

I already do — every night that I’m on the road.