NIght Life

I feel like I've heard all the reasons that my children provide for staying up just a little bit longer at night.
I feel like the last twelve years have given ample opportunity for me to hear them all.
All those reasons and all those excuses to stay up for just a few more seconds then minutes then hours then why even bother going to bed at all.  Hey, why don't we just have a slumber party, can you make us popcorn and get us drinks while you are up anyways?

So many reasons to stay up longer......like....

"I'm thirsty and need a drink."
"I'm scared."
"I have to pee."
"Mom, let's have a deep and meaningful discussion about life."
"I just had a nightmare and need to be near you and/ or talking about it."
"Can you scratch my back?  My arms?  Tickle my neck?  Massage my back?"
"Wanna hear a part of my book that I'm reading?  It's just a page and a half."
"I'm starving.  Can I have a snack?  It may involve half of the contents of the fridge."
"Can you find the cat?  I can't sleep unless I am snuggling the cat."
"I need to sort my hockey cards for the eleven-millionth time."
"I'm feeling inspired to rearrange my room.  Is that okay to do even though it's eleven at night?"
"CAN YOU WIPE MY BUM?"
"My little brother keeps burping and I can't sleep."
"I'm too cold."
"I'm too hot."
"What are we doing tomorrow?"


But tonight, my dear friends, tonight my kids pulled out all the stops.
They were inventive like I've never seen inventive before.  It was 9:30 pm.  I had just changed into my pjs and had that "I-need-all-you-ankle-biters-in-bed-because-it's-mommy-alone-time" look going on.  My ankle biters know that look and it usually sends them into a frenzy of excuses to eke out a few more minutes of awake time.
Tonight, they played it cool and calm.

"Mom, want a foot massage?" one of them queried innocently.

Uh.....let me think about that for a millisecond.  YES!  YES I DO!

"How about some wine?  I'll get it for you,"  said the other boy and, after gluing on a fake moustache, he served me my wine like he was a French waiter.

Merci, I murmured lazily.

Then my two big boys applied some lavender-scented lotion to my feet and began massaging.  One to a foot.  It was delightful.  Wonderful.  Relaxing.

I sipped wine and felt all my eye-twitches recede away.

"I can massage your hands, mom, if you want."

Bless you, child, you never have to go to bed again.

A sliver of drool dripped down my chin.

One boy fetched cool cucumber slices and put them on my eyes.  The other massaged the knots out of my back.

I am fully, fully cognizant of the fact that the boys have worked up the cleverest of clever plans to allow them to stay up later, but this was a mutually beneficial situation, people!

Now excuse me while I ooze off the couch and bid you all a good night.