What's a girl to do?

It's bed time. Actually, it's a couple hours past bedtime. But on Wednesdays, getting to bed comes a little late because of church and such. But even by this point, they should be nestled in their beds, quiet, and at the very least pretending to sleep.

So you can understand my shock when I kept hearing all this noise from down the hall. Don't they know Heath and I are about to sit down to some tuna fish salad and some T.V.? Oh wait, maybe they do, and that's what all the commotion is about. I holler at Daniel once and all the kids twice to hush and get quiet. But still, the disturbance continues. So I finish making the salad (because it was important to finish it before I made my children obey), and head down the hall to correct some children. Now mind you, I'm thinking that little Heath and Malcolm are goofing around, or maybe Daniel and Terry. Probably all the above. What a surprise to the system when I turn the corner and discover it is Terry, and Terry alone. He has swiped his older brother's book lamp, is under his covers head to toe, has a stack of books waist high, and is reading them with all the vigor a two year old can muster. He's growling with the beasts, counting all the flowers, pretending he knows his ABCs and is reciting them. He's talking in girl voices, and boy voices, mean voices, and someone's laugh that kind of scares me. Now tell me, what am I supposed to do? Do I get on to him for disobeying and squash his imagination and enthusiasm for reading? Or do I let him get away with being up past bedtime, but kindle his new found love for books?

Too bad for him he's the sixth of seven children. I'm not taken in by much. Excuses for staying up late are just that. Excuses. And to abolish any doubts I may have had, when I said his name, he jumped nearly eight feet in the air, shut the light off lickity split, threw all the evidence in the floor, and proceeded to tell me how much he loved me. Um hum. Busted.