The age of excess

Last night, I was on solo duty putting the boys to bed. Since we recently moved, we now have a luxurious setup where each boy has his own room. That has worked out fine – until now.

As I was reading The Younger to sleep (or, at least, hoping to read him to sleep), The Elder came clambering in with his comforter and pretty much every stuffed toy I’ve ever seen in our house, and set up a makeshift campsite on the floor, all while inciting his drowsy brother to get up and start jumping on the bed.

“Hey, I don’t think now is the time to come in here with a million animals,” I admonished him.

“It’s not a million! It’s 70,” he astutely corrected me.

One million stuffed animals would be crazy. But just 70 animals in bed with you? Oh, that is quite reasonable. My mistake. –Jillian O’Connor

 

 

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