“Mom?” Jack calls.
“What, babe?”
“Do you think Sam would like to sleep in my room so we could talk to each udder and tell stories?”
“Well…”
Not waiting for a response, he continues, “I could tell him stories about dinosaurs and he could tell me ones about dragons.”
“Does Sam like dragons?” I ask, trying not to smile too big.
“Well he likes Dragon Tales,” he shrugs. “Could we have a sleepover, Mom? Please!?!”
I know that Sam defecting from his shared room with Tom and Will to the spare bed in Jack’s room is going to cause no end of strife, so I give the standard mom answer, “We’ll see.” That’s mom-speak for “Jeeeeez! — I’m really hoping you forget about this before I actually have to do anything about it.”
2 Hours Later:
“Okay, boys! Bedtime! Let’s help clean up then go get in your beds!” I clap my hands and begin singing the Barney clean up song (Love it or hate it…that stuff really works!) and when the scurrying is done, I realize that Will and Tom are headed for their beds but Sam is hanging back in the playroom with Jack. I roll my eyes and go to take my medicine.
“Mom, Sam wants to sleep in my room tonight,” Jack assures me, assuming a protective pose in front of Sam.
“Sammy,” I ask sweetly. “Wouldn’t you rather sleep in your bedroom with Will and Tom?”
Sam, peeping from behind Jack with big eyes, begins shaking his head before I even reach the question mark. “No want Will. No want Tom. Want Jack’s room.”
I put on my stern mommy voice. “Alright you guys, but no monkey business. I want you in bed asleep right now.” They bolt toward Jack’s room before I can change my mind.
I enter Will and Tom’s room and begin tucking them under the covers.
“Where Sammy?” Will asks.
“Sammy’s fine,” I say, not making eye contact with either of them.
“What doin’?” Will persists.
“Sammy’s/sleeping/in/Jack’s/room,” I fire in my lowest voice, praying that it won’t carry over to Tom’s bed. Will takes the news in stride, but Tommy…well, it hits him pretty hard.
“Want Jack’s room! Want Sammy! I get out bed, Mommy! I get out bed!!!” Tom shrieks, his voice ascending with each panicked exclamation.
“No, Tommy,” I coo as I physically force him back into his bed. “Sammy’s okay. Tommy and Will Will are sleeping right here.” I continue to coo and sooth until Tommy finally settles into pitiful sobs of, “Rockababy, Mommy. Rockababy!” This means he’s at just about the lowest point he can be. I whisper/sing Rock-a-bye-baby until he is only snubbing every few seconds. “Want drink, Mommy,” he whimpers.
“Me, too!” pipes up Will, waving his cup at me, completely unconcerned with the drama unfolding in the bed next to his.
I take their cups and return with watered down juice, a rare night-time treat. “Here you go, Will-Will!” I grab one last kiss. “And here’s Tommy’s!” I say in a singsong voice as I lean in for his kiss.
“Sammy need drink, too, Mommy” he tells me mournfully.
I can’t help but give him one last snuggle — you’ve got to admire his unshakeable devotion. And isn’t it much too early to learn how it feels not to get picked for something really cool — especially when your own brother gets to be the “chosen one” instead? He’s not even three yet, for heaven’s sake! I vow then and there Tommy and I are going to have a Mommy/Tommy visit to the ice cream parlor next week.
And guess what, Tom? Jack and Sam can stay home and tell stories.
