My nephew is four. This past summer he had his very first sleepover at our house. I have my husband to thank for that.

After spending the day together, Ryan, who had plans that night to go to a concert, asked him when he was going to sleep over at our house. “How about tonight?”

Sure, he was kind of joking because the little guy had never been away from his parents over night before, but when you make an offer to a four-year-old, you’d better be willing to deliver.

His face turned to sheer delight. You would have thought we were offering ice cream for breakfast for life or something. Because he loves my daughter so much, the chance to spend even more time with his big cousin was an automatic yes.

That’s OK, I love my nephew and I have the greatest daughter in the world (no really, she’s so easy to take care of—I credit that to my husband and the fact that she has no blood relation to me whatsoever!). This was going to be a great Saturday night. A nice easy, somewhat relaxing night.

I ‘m starting to think that nephews should come with a handbook.

Bed time was 9:30. Or at least that was when I was able to get him calmed down enough to try. Was he really calm? No. He and Leah were going to sleep in her bed, so I put him in there and let him choose the stuffed animals he wanted most to sleep with.

As I’m about to leave the room, I hear “It’s not comfy. I’m not comfy.”

Fair enough. He can always sleep in my bed and Ryan can sleep on the couch when he gets home. So I propose that to him. “Do you want to sleep in mine and Uncle Ryan’s bed?”


We move into our bedroom and he lies there, tossing and turning after about 10 seconds. “It’s not comfy.” So I lie down with him. It’s better, but still not “comfy.”

I turn to him and say, “You have to sleep somewhere. It’s either in Leah’s bed or my bed.”

“Your bed! Where’s your bed?”

“We’re in it, Sweetie.”

“No, this is Uncle Ryan’s bed! Where’s your bed? Is it comfy?”

I considered putting him in the basement on the futon, but that’s just mean. Also, he is afraid of Smith who lives in our basement (he’s a life-size Frankenstein monster type figure who talks when you press his hand. We’ve had him down there for almost a year and he still freaks me out. No, I could never let a child sleep down there alone. That’s just cruel.).

After reading to him, singing to him, and watching most of a movie with him, I eventually got him tired enough to almost fall asleep. By that, I mean I got him really cranky and homesick. That’s when the tears started. Luckily, crying is pretty exhausting, and just before midnight, the little guy finally fell asleep.

Poor Leah, though, who graciously shared her bed with her little cousin. Apparently he is quite the kicker. While he eventually got a good night’s sleep in a bed that wasn’t “comfy,” she barely slept a wink and around 3:30 in the morning, she snuck downstairs and slept on our living room couch. (Not the basement, because I don’t think even she wants to sleep near Smith.)

(Are you getting the hint, Smith? Kids and adults find you creepy!)

NOTE: when the incredibly unattractive Smith talks, his mouth moves and his eyes light up. That's not the creepiest part. It's the fact that he stands alone in a dark corner waiting, and, well, just being creepy!

Sadly, Smith is not the creepiest thing that lives in our basement. That would be Smith 2 (pronounced "two," not "the second").Smith 2 is the result of my husband's corpsing phase. A gentleman, but still ugly. He needs to put on some clothes. Hmm, I guess he's not a gentleman after all...

10/26/2010 04:39:47 am

Smith looks like he has bunny ears with the skis behind him.

Smith 2 looks handsome.


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