It was a particularly rough evening ’round these parts. If you happen to be a rather emotional, precocious 6-year-old, Friday nights are not your time to shine. In that case, Friday nights would hallmark the end of an entire week of being your most wonderful and obedient self for the school community, and starting about when the bus drops off on Friday afternoon would be a good time to unleash a week’s worth of angst and votriol upon your unsuspecting family. The result? Four hours that feel like forty.

You can understand, perhaps, how relieved I was to finally tuck the children into bed. Poor Monkey was safe for the first time all evening (in bed, there are no grumpy big sisters who thwack your head if you look at them wrong). Chickadee did the standard dragging of the feet during bedtime preparation… followed by histrionic sobbing related to everything from supposed remorse about her earlier behavior to broken crayons… and of course topped it all off with the classic “but I didn’t know I had to go potty, before!” move ten minutes after lights out.

The temptation to curl up in bed, myself, was strong. But I had things to do, and it was only 8:00. So I busied myself in the quiet, hoping to clear my mind and my to-do list before turning in.

thump THUMP thump thump THUMP

Craptastic. Which child is doing calisthenics? My money is on the demon girl, but it sounds more like the boy’s room. Hmmmm. Maybe if I ignore it, it’ll stop?

thump… thump… THUMP THUMP THUMP

Is it possible to have a cardiac event at 33? I’m about one Mama tantrum away from a coronary, I’m thinking. I’ve had it. It’s been a long week and I just don’t think I can handle even one more confrontation where I try to convince the little people and myself that I am in fact the person in charge here.

THUMP thump thump thump THUMP

I’m glad I didn’t see the look on my face as I flew towards their rooms. My guess is that one glimpse would’ve turned any living thing to stone. I threw open the door to Monkey’s room, first.

Sound asleep.

Well, at least now I knew. I flung Chickadee’s door open, triumphant.

Also sound asleep.

What the…?

thump thump thump THUMP THUMP THUMP!

Know what else Friday nights are good for? Moving big heavy things. In the dark. Across the street at the neighbors’ house. I was so embarrassed about all the nasty unmotherly thoughts I’d just been having about my angelic slumbering children, it didn’t occur to me until now (a couple of hours later) to wonder if the neighbors were being robbed. Oh well. I suspect they are just noisy and inconsiderate. Yes. Casting doubt on my beautiful babies, that way. For shame.