Our bedtime ritual includes a few kisses goodnight topped off with a reading of "Snow White" by your father. You used to go to sleep so well, but since we've converted to your toddler bed, you've had trouble adjusting. Tonight was different. Your Dad was gone, and our routine was thrown off.

First of all, when I told you it was time for bed, you didn't crawl into your bed. You crawled into "mommy's bed." We giggled for a minute, and then went to "Tommy's bed." We read a story and I kissed you goodnight. After shutting the door, I thought to myself, "That was pleasant. Maybe he's used to his new bed." Before I could even finish the thought, I heard the whistle blow of a train set coming from your bedroom.

"Back to bed," I told you, as I walked into your room and noticed your devilish grin. You hopped back in to bed, and I went in to the bathroom. And again, before I could even grab my toothbrush, I heard the creak of your bedroom door and the soft shuffle of little feet. I opened the bathroom door and there you stood. You giggled.

I scooped you up in my arms, and you wrapped your arms around my neck. I asked, "Do you want to lay in Mommy's bed for awhile?" You whispered back, "Yeah." Then I asked, "will you go to sleep then?" You whispered back, "No."