Quietness, redefined

The boys went to bed almost without incident last night. They only had to be threatened once or twice with the Wii before they finally settled down to sleep. The house eventually grew as quiet as the night was dark. Until 3:24 AM.

"Mom? Mo-om? MOM?"

"What it is it, Jeffrey?" I ask in a voice much quieter than his as I head upstairs.

"My bed is not supposed to make me sleepy." He is on his hands and knees at the foot of the bed, which is closer to the bedroom doorway than where he lays his head each night. I probably wouldn't have been able to hear him if he hadn't gotten up and moved two feet closer to the door.

"Jeffrey," I tell him, "Your bed is supposed to make you sleepy. That's why we sleep in our beds each night."

"No, my bed is not making me sleepy. I want to come to your bed." There's a surprise.

As we are heading downstairs, Jeffrey informs me that Tommy is not in his bed, to which I reply that he most definitely is. "No, he's in Christopher and Joey's room." He pronounces his c's with w's, and I am amused at the way Christopher's name comes out, sounding like 'Wistopher'. I take him to their room to prove that only they are in their beds, and Tommy is in his. "Then he's downstairs," he tells me. I can't believe I'm really having this conversation with a 3-year-old at 3 in the morning.

I settle us back into my bed, glancing at the clock before closing my eyes. 3:31 AM. Somehow, I don't have a good feeling about getting back to sleep like my body wants to.

"Did you hear that quietness?" I did, but I don't let on that I heard anything, pretending to be asleep. It doesn't work. "Mom, did you hear that? Yup, Tommy's downstairs alright. Can you get me a drink? Pwease?" I'm still pretending to be sleeping. "Pwease?" he asks me again. He puts his hand on my cheek, his method of sugar-coating his little request to get me to give in, get up, and comply.

Before fetching His Highness a drink, I head to the living room. There, I find Christopher wrapped in a blanket on the sofa watching Tommy, who is sitting in front of the television, nunchuk in hand. A quiet battle ensues, because there is no way they are playing games in the middle of what used to be a quiet night. Although I don't like baiting them with it, the Wii is a great incentive to get them to listen because they know that if they don't, it's off limits. They reluctantly head upstairs, informing me they will be playing at 5 AM. I take the two remotes back to bed with me because even if they insist on getting up at 5 AM, they are not going to play. And let me point out that it is really only Tommy who plays, while his audience cheers him on.

I wind up turning them away at 5 AM when they come looking for the remotes, until they return at 6:30 AM. By now, I have finally settled back into a deep sleep and my body fights the need to wake up. Jeffrey is fast asleep beside me and I long to be where he is, undisturbed by anything around me. But it's a losing game and I know I'll pay the price in the middle of the day. But what I dread more is the fact that unbeknownst to them, they too will pay the price from lack of sleep. Bedtime won't come fast enough tonight.