What boy?!

This evening, I confess that I couldn't wait to get the children to bed. With Scully being away on business, I'm tired. So, after putting Gigi to bed, I was done and reclining (or, refusing to move, if you prefer). The house was mostly silent except for the sound of the fan in the baby's unused nursery.

But I could hear a soft conversation (with laughter) between two children and I just passed it off as the product of sleep deprivation or a simple error in perception.

Later on, I did actually move and went to check on the children. Baby was asleep and Gigi was, too. Just as I was leaving, Gigi woke up and lifted her head, squinting:

"Mum, where did the boy go?"

I couldn't get her to say anything else. Five-year-olds are surprisingly protective of their sleep. At least, mine is. I must make a mental note to ask her tomorrow to please elaborate. These days, however, I often get a sigh as if talking to me is a real chore; well, at least as if I'm not as interesting as Arthur and D.W.