“That’s it.  Everybody out of the bath!  Go get your jammies on.”

“Ahhh, Mom!”

“Jammies now or no stories.”

The two monkeys slump off to their rooms while I finish cleaning the water off the bathroom floor.  Five minutes later, muffled voiced and knocking sounds fill the hall.  The littlest monkey’s door is closed – never a good sign.  On my way to the door, I hear:

“Don’t touch the lava!”

“No, Fwankie, you go there first, then you can go this way.”

“Go! Go!”

“NO! You can’t go that way without a rocket ship!”



I crack open the door and both monkeys are stark naked.  One is standing on a toy chest.  The other is mid-leap sailing from the chair to the bed.  Then one jumps from toy chest to chair.  All the room needs is a rubber tire on a rope and some shreds of lettuce in a bucket to be an exhibit at the zoo.

“BOYS! Jammies!  NOW!”

“Mom, we can’t!  We can’t touch the lava.”

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Yoink.  Click.  Goodnight.