After a late night adventure with Dad and Eliza (in the car at 10:30pm, asleep at 10:45, in bed at midnight), and the morning spent at church, Garrett was burnt, just barley functioning, ready for a nap.
"Upstairs, and directly to bed," mom ventures, in what seems to be clear instructions.
Twenty minutes later, as we hear a door open and close, Maggie finds him in his floor playing with Legos. "To bed with you," she shoos him under the covers, head on pillow, lights out.
Ten minutes later, finding him up again, Maggie's patience begins to get tested. But as evolving parents, we try reason, "Garrett, you are very tired, you are grumpy and are crying too much. You need to go to bed. Garrett, (we assume that starting every sentence with his name helps Garrett realize that we are specifically talking to him), you went to bed late last night, were up early this morning, and will be up late tonight. Tomorrow is a school day, and you need some rest. I want you to get in your bed and go to sleep. Do you understand?"
"Uhm, yes."
Three seconds pass.
"Mommy, I have a question."
"Yes"
"Can I get up and play?"
