Bedtime Boy-Mom Bounce House

Bedtime in a boy-house is not what I ever thought it would be. I always thought bedtime would be a peaceful ritual, idyllic even, like in TV commercials. Footie pajamas and bedtime stories. Dim lights, soft music, and boys sitting quietly on my lap or the bed.

We start out well, sitting three-up on the master bedroom bed, me in the middle. I tell them it’s so they can both see the pictures, but really it’s to keep them at arm’s length from each other.

Inevitably, like small shirtless octopi, one lands a kick or a punch. If I offer even the slightest opening, always inadvertent, they dive towards each other.

Like puppies they roll into a ball of arms and legs and yelling and laughter.

My stick-in-the-mud-self wants order and quiet. I can be so boring, sometimes.

Tonight I let go and we tussle. Tickling and giggling, me joining in. We roll on the bed.We end with a contest – who roars the loudest, the fiercest, the most? It ends in a sword fight as these things often do, but so what?

I roar and I win, they jump in shock as I join in and laugh in delight, my wild things rolling, and kicking and pummeling down the hall and off to bed.

My stick-in-the-mud-self is silenced and I remember how much fun our boyish-puppy chaos can be.

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