“You ticka Mama”

If you’ve seen Cheaper by the Dozen, you’ll know what I mean by the lumps-in-the-mattress scenario.  You know, the scene where Steve Martin is pounding the ‘lumps’ out of the mattress?  And the whole bed erupts with giggles and writhing and thrashing?

That’s us.  Only at our house, Mr. Schrock plays Steve Martin’s part.

Last Saturday, the three-year-old came knocking.  Which Cracks.  Me.  Up.  Here comes a little guy in Pull-Ups with blanky in tow, knocking with a tiny fist on our door.  At a sleepy, “Come in,” he trots in, climbs up, and promptly burrows under the covers, smack dab in between his father and I, stuffing blanky in around himself.

Here’s where sleep always deserts me.  Our little people never hold still, see, and when one of them hops in bed with us, the wriggle factor spikes by about 350%.  Even if I could ignore the occasional knee in my back, it’s the inevitable wrestling matches that finish me off.

Sure enough.  Saturday morning was no different.  The ‘lump’ started wiggling and talking, which prompted his father to start the requisite tickling and roughhousing.  There was shrieking.  There was giggling.  There was growling (father bear).  There was, in other words, chaos.

Finally, between rounds, a small voice gasped, “Leave me alone!  You ticka Mama.”

The little monkey.  As his father said wryly, “I think you’ve just been thrown under the bus.”

Uh-huh.  By a three-year-old.  Maybe I’ll get to sleep in for real one of these years.