Siblingery

Last evening, I took the kids to great grandma’s to make s’mores. While there, my Dad called to tell me my brother and sister-in-law were in town for night, and we were invited to come up and visit.
After all was said and done, I walked through my door at 10:15 in the PM.
“Okay,” I said, “Time for PJs and prayer.”
My son trudged off into his bedroom. I waited for him to emerge.
I waited.
We waited.
The girls all waited.
I called out… no answer.
I called out again… no answer.

I finally realized there was no getting around it, and I got up (hate that).

PJs are sometimes too much to ask for, Mom.
Look at that serene, worn out little face:

And those cute little cock-eyed legs:

I left my oldest daughter to herself while I went to my bed to nurse Alice Michelle. And I, of course, fell asleep. I woke up just after 1 am, put the baby in her bed, turned off all the lights, and panicked a little when I couldn’t FIND my daughter.
Not in her bed.
Not on the couches.
Not on my floor.
Not on the floor by her Polly Pockets (a frequent favorite sleeping spot).

And then, THERE she was:

Sleeping away in perfect peace right next to her brother.
Why? WHY?
Because, Lacy of the Future, YOU LOVE HIM!

A few weeks ago, she was singing a song to me.
“I’m full of love.
Full of LOVE!
I love my mother and father!
And my brother!”

Then she stopped and leaned over to whisper in my ear, “I don’t really love him… that’s just what the song says.”
“You don’t love him?” I asked.
“No.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because,” she sighed deeply, “He always watches POWER Rangers. and I HATE that show.”
Love DENIED.
Take that, Rangers.