Friday, November 22, 2013

Don't Tell Daddy

My wife was on her way to bed last night when she passed by Secondborn's room. (Secondborn, for those coming in late, is three-and-a-half going on seventeen, and finds the entire concept of "bedtime" morally repugnant.) Secondborn was supposed to be in his bed; he was supposed to be lying still and being quiet; and he had been warned emphatically that if Daddy found him out of his bed, he would be In Trouble.

Instead, as the Beautiful Woman passed by his doorway, she heard the sounds of movement. So she stepped inside and flipped on the lights.

Secondborn was standing on the floor, trying to wrestle his mattress back up onto his bed. When the light came on, he whirled to face his mommy. The first words out of his mouth were: "Help me wif dis, and don't tell Daddy."

We are in so much trouble when he gets to be a teenager...


  1. We are in so much trouble when he gets to be a teenager...

    That's what my mom said about me. She was pleasantly surprised. There's hope yet.

    (I also went from frequently staying up all night* to having the earliest (self-imposed) bedtime in the household. Which are really just two different strategies for obtaining morning.)

    *Though generally without waking anyone else, nor before days we were planning to leave the house.

  2. I actually have high hopes for the boy, it's just that they're still contingent on him learning to read.


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