Picture it, 12:30 am, Mike and I had just finished watching a movie in bed on our little portable DVD player and were laying quietly, half asleep. Then the unintelliglbe mumblings our 3 1/2 year old in the next room cut through the silence of our so-very-close-to-sleep reverie:
(On a side note, I think Aidan got the sleep talking thing from me? Apparently whenever Mike nudges me I tend to bark out commands in my sleep like "wash the porcupines!" or "put the car down!" He's a lucky man, isn't he?)
Anyway, we hear a thud, which can mean one thing and one thing only: the preschooler is OUT of his bed. This is a serious thing in my house, and it happens much more often that we would like, so we always respond swiftly and preemptively (...at least, when we're awake). Mike hops out of bed (umm... of course it's Mike who gets out of bed -- I've got a good thing going here, people) and walks into Aidan's room to head him off at the pass, because if Aidan makes it into our room, Aidan wants to stay in our room. And both Mike and I are tired of waking up with his feet in our face.
This is what I hear from the other room:
Mike: Hey buddy, are you okay?
Mike: Let's get you back into bed...
Aidan: Yeah. I want a song. I want "Rockabye Aidan".
Mike: Okay... (sings) Rockabye baby--
Aidan (interrupts): Aidan.
Mike: Rockabye Aidan, in the treetops--
Mike: bedroom...when the wind blows, the cradle--
Mike: ...the bed will rock... when the bough breaks, the bedroom will fall, and down will come Aidan, bed and all....