untitledlife

So I walk into our darkened bedroom the other night, only to see untitledson sprawled out like a crime scene chalk outline in the middle of our messy bed. As per usual, he had snuck from his bedroom into ours about five minutes after I finished reading his last book.

At our house, this little tango occurs almost every night. I tuck him in, he listens for my footsteps down the stairs, and then he bolts for his rightful place in the master bedroom. He does not journey alone. He always brings the Three Wisemen (most often a Hot Wheels car, a book and his Care Bear).

I bought him Wish Bear a few weeks back, and it came with a ghastly Care Bears cartoon DVD. The heroes, of course, are this ragtag team of mercenary Care Bears that drive around in a cloud and take down villians (in this case, a tall, thin, soulless wretch named No Heart). To save you the viewing, I’ll tell you this — regardless of their overstuffed girth and penchant for melodrama, Team Care Bear manages to lay the smackdown on No Heart, returning happiness and light to the world. I mean, who knew that Ann Coulter got her start in cartoons?

Now, I fully expect that on any given night, I could find anything from a dump truck to dental floss in our bed. Nothing much surprises me anymore. But last night set me back a bit, for untitledson had brought with him his horsehead on a stick (a gift he got from grandma). Imagine looking into your dark bedroom and seeing your child laying in your bed, nuzzled up to a horse head.

Upon seeing this disturbing sight, I turned to untitledhusband and said, “Now how exactly are we going to get that thing away from him without waking him up?” He turned to me and gave a reply, one that reminded me just why I married him in the first place. “Let’s make him an offer he can’t refuse.”