Run Ragged.

Joe is home from his bachelor party weekend at the coast, where he had a fabulous time bonding with his buddies. Oliver is home from near two-day bender at Grandma's. Balance is restored. Almost.

After an epic battle involving poop, holding it, and the toilet (Oliver won, still no poop, despite bribes aplenty), the three of us retired to the sofa for some late afternoon tv watching.

Oliver was using Bentley as a mattress pad and Bentley must have proved to be comfortable because Oliver started slipping off to sleep. But not before he lifted his head and told us to turn the tv off because he was trying to sleep. (I quote: "Turn the tv off please. I'm trying to sleep,") It was only 5:15pm.

I tried to get him up and running for at least another two hours, but he was not having it. He actually requested that we take him to bed. So we cuddled him up in his shark pj's and read some books and sleep swallowed him up before 6 o'clock.

I just hope he really had some catching up to do, and that he sleeps until his regular wake up time. Because if this is just a nap, then he will most likely be up again at ten pm wanting to hang out. Which, I guess, is fine by me. He's my favorite person to hang out with besides Joe, so I wouldn't mind that so much.

It's the possibility of him sleeping through the night and waking up at 5am that chills me to the bone. That is still the middle of the night for this blog poster-dance teacher-winner of the Most Likely To Be Asleep Award in college. It will never. NEVER. Be morning time.

I will be laying my head down on my pillow tonight and crossing my fingers. And some toes, probably, too. Sweet dreams, Boy.