Sleep, beautiful sleep...

Okay. I've had enough of this.

All my adult life, I've had one child-rearing rule that I have never violated, even after having children. My kids watch TV, they eat candy, they refuse to eat spinach, they weren't toilet trained by 3 years old. But to date, I have held the line on letting them sleep in my bed. But no more. They've finally broken me.

The Girl has taken to waking at 3am and coming to visit us. We have two choices: let her sleep with us or take her back to her room and hope that it doesn't wake her up. Because, boy howdy, if she wakes up, she'll be up partying until 5am or whenever The Husband has to get up for work, whichever is later. So, The Husband, sometimes without even waking me, has allowed her to sleep on his side of the bed while he goes to sleep on the couch. Ooh. Bad. On the other hand, I get to sleep most of the night. Oh sleep, how fondly I remember you...

Then The Boy got a cold. (You can look down below to see how well he handled it.) The only safe, comfortable place that could keep him from weeping uncontrollably (at 10:30 pm) was -- you guessed it -- our bed.

What is it about the magical realm of The Big Bed? I remember its magic from when I was a child. The Big Bed was lofty and elevated. Its sheets were cool and smooth. The pillows smelled like "parent". It was a land unto itself, forbidden territory.

And now, my kids have discovered that. It's gotten to where The Husband and I are considering buying ourselves a new bed and letting the kids keep the old one. Oh sleep, beautiful sleep. How fondly I remember it...