The night before, BigBrother opened the door to the second bedroom in our suite well after he should have fallen asleep. In fact, I should have already climbed in bed and headed off to Snoozetown as well.
“I can’t sleeeeeep,” he whined at me.
I understood. The excitement of seeing their sister built all week long, only to be followed by a long car ride and only 15 minutes with her before everyone needed to get ready for bed. He knew the next day would bring lots of time together, and his little, excited heart and brain went into overdrive with the thought of it all.
I shuffled him off to bed before forcing myself off to bed as well, visions of siblings in my head.
Both boys woke ridiculously early the next morning, not too long after the snow plow in the parking lot forced me from my own slumber. I really understood, but goodness, I felt tired.
They spent the rest of their day playing with, eating with, laughing with, and making noise with their sister. The evening hours involved watching her on stage, whistling after every song, and staring at her with adoring eyes. Then more playing and laughing; more memory making together.
By the time we got back to our hotel suite, the boys looked as tired as they felt. We rushed through bedtime rituals and tucked them in. Not long after, I checked on them to find this: two brothers absolutely zonked out after a busy day with their sister.
I went to bed with a smile on my face.