Ben @ 3.5 years old

"WAKE UP, IT'S MORNING!" Ben bellows in my ear!

He's right, it's morning, and the room's already bright, with the sun's rays peeking through the blinds. But I don't feel so good, I don't want to wake up just yet. My throat hurts, and my bones ache, a day after Vern started complaining of the same things.

Wasn't it just four hours before Ben sprang wide wide awake, when he needed a middle-of-the-night toilet break, and I just put him next to me after we came back from the bathroom? And then, two hours after that, big brother Jon had heaved his still-tired body on our bed, wondering, "Is it morning yet? Why do I have a headache?". And, with Vern, Jon had stumbled back into the boys' room for a bit more slumber.

But now, our little Captain Von Trapp won't let up! "I'm going to count to three!"

And, "One, two, three...!" he starts counting. All the way, till 10, and I still don't budge. And then, I think he skips '12', goes on counting till almost 20, and jumps ahead to tackle the 80's, but with more difficulty:

"81, 82, 83, 84, what comes after that? And then what? 88?"

By now, Jon's awake too, fumbles into the room, and flings himself on the bed. "Go back to sleep," I mumble to him. "It's Saturday, and there's no soccer game, no chess.".

Ben bounces off, disappears for a little while, and zips back into the room, blaring, "Ting, ting, ting, ting, ting! We have a fire to put out!".

Aw, can I sleep some more? "How about we play pizza? I'll be the pizza!" I volunteer.

(How's that for a compromise? Whoever is the pizza, gets to be rolled around on the bed like a dough, and gets a back massage on top of that, because the back doubles as the chopping board for whatever ingredients that need chopping, dicing, julienning. It's even more fun for the Italian chef. No?).

"No pizza!", our junior firefighter is adamant to fight a pretend fire. How about help me fight some germs, some real ones?

"Wake up!" comes his command, again. "Let's go to the basement. We have to wash my pillow case!". (The basement is his firehouse, washing clothes, our secret code for putting out fires!).

Back and forth like this we go. But not for long. When I eventually roll out of bed, it's only already slightly past 8am! No time to lose... we have a fire to fight!

Ben has the sniffles, but other than that, he's the fittest of us now. He will be exactly 3.5 years old tomorrow, and I just wish I have as much energy to keep up with him!