After I put the boys to bed, I head up to my computer. I check a few blogs and reply to a few emails, all to the music emanating from the room below. Benjamin, you see, is busily taking off his socks and pulling all the stuffed animals off of the shelf into his bed, which he does while jibberishing at the top of his lungs.
So, it’s no wonder that Zachary sometimes has a hard time falling asleep. After about twenty minutes, by which point the opera below has reached a crescendo, Zachary often comes out for more water or a potty trip. Or, in the case of last night, for something far more important.
“Benjamin said something mean to me,” he informed me.
“What did he say, honey?”
“He said he’s not my friend.”
Now, I have to agree that this is a mean thing to say, but given that Benjamin is 18 months old and thus far his longest sentence has been “Mommy… ready… outside… walk,” I am guessing that Zach might be exaggerating. Of course, who’s to say what goes on between brothers?