It's Tuesday evening...

...and it's been one of those days. It's payroll week, I've got work up to my eyeballs, and Hubby has a rehearsal at church, so I'm on my own with the Fries.

I heave a huge sigh of relief as I get them all in bed. I know I'll be up late to get everything done I need to for the next day, but at least I'll have relative quiet in which to do it.

The way it usually goes, once I get them in bed, is this: Large Fry will rustle around in bed for a bit in her room, but she settles down for the night pretty quickly. Medium Fry settles in right away, thumb in mouth and duckie tucked into an elbow, and she's usually the first one asleep. Small Fry often jabbers for awhile (why this doesn't keep Medium awake is beyond me), and will occasionally require a scolding and a threat or two before she will lay down and stay that way before finally nodding off last.

I dug into work, hoping I wouldn't be still working at 2 a.m. (I was). About twenty minutes after the kids are in bed, the screaming starts.

I let it go for a few minutes, hoping that it won't require a trip upstairs. And it sounds like an I-want-attention scream.

The wailing continues, and is obviously that of Medium Fry. Since it's unusual for her to still be awake this long after getting into bed, I head upstairs to see if she's gotten her foot stuck again between the spindles on her crib.

She whimpers as I come into the room. "What's the matter, sweetie?"

Medium pulls herself up to a standing position and holds out her hands. I give her a hug and tell her everything's okay, and ask again what's wrong.

She whimpers again, and then says, "I want to go pway!"