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...