‘love’ the blue marker stain on the pillowcase

Each night before going to bed, the professor and I check on our cherubs. Often separately – doubly – sometimes together. It’s one of my favorite parts of each day, watching them sleep. Limbs dangling from beds, the trail of evidence of whatever toys they played with after they were ‘supposed’ to be in bed. Snoring. Clothes everywhere. And their adorable faces, so innocent, so (seemingly) incapable of arguing or fighting with brothers and trashing our abode.

I also love listening in on the Hen and the Gort’s conversations when they’re lying in their separate beds, minutes before sleep finds them. This one, from Tuesday or Wednesday night, was so random I scribbled the dialogue on a piece of scrap paper with an IKEA (tiny) pencil.

The Hen: ‘Cats don’t eat boys.’

The Gort: ‘But they do eat mice……and rats.’

The Hen: ‘Cats don’t eat mouses and rice! They eat dog food……only dogs eat cats.’

The Gort: ‘Cats don’t eat dog food!’

The Hen: ‘Yes, they do. Sometimes I eat dog food too!’

(Unintelligible conversation)

The Hen: ‘Gaga….I have eight fingers….’

The Gort: ‘Then you’re missing two, because I have ten.’

The Hen: ‘I’m not missing two, I have eight!’

(More muffled conversation involving the Hen yelling Gaga repeatedly and the Gort mumbling something like ‘I’m tired’.)

The Hen: ‘Gaga….Gaga….Gaga….it’s breakfast time!’ (The alarm clock in my room reads 9.10pm.)

The Gort: ‘It’s not even seven o’clock in the morning.’

The Hen: ‘No, it’s seven zero zero…..fuhgeddabout it Gaga!’

(More muffled words which prompt me to leave the comfort of my bed and crouch next to my dresser on the hardwood floor, for a better chance at hearing this stellar conversation.)

The Hen: ‘It’s my turn….you don’t talk…..I’m the boss……actually, Daddy’s the boss.’