I have the funniest story to share. Last night we put my son to bed at his usual time in his usual manner. About an hour later, after talking with my husband in our room, I got up to make my final rounds on the house, lock up, etc, and noticed my son's light was on. I peeked in, and after first thinking he wasn't in bed, I noticed, among the jumble of blankets, his tiny little butt peeking up at the side of the bed. I walked in a little further, and realized he was hanging over the side of his bed, digging around for something on the floor. I said, "Whatcha doing Aidyn?" which must have startled him as with a little squeek, he toppled over the side and became wedged in between his wall and bed at a weird angle, which left his two little legs waving madly in the air like a windmill as he tried to unsuccessfully right himself. Once I had managed to extract him from his rather funny predicament, I kissed him and pulled up the covers, and was on the verge of walking out the door when he said, "Mommy, cars." Of course, he can't sleep without every last one of his 102 matchbox cars stuffed into bed with him. I turned around and discovered, in the hour he had been awake, he had been a busy little man and had lined every one of said cars into several straight rows that spanned most of his floor. I hurridly scooped several up, and went for a hasty getaway, but he called me back. "Mommy, the red ones, I want the red ones." Scooping up (and stepping on) every red car in sight, I walked back once more and dumped the shiny little annoyances on his bed. I didn't even get turned around before I was asked to find the green ones. Finally, I said, no more! "Mommy, mommy!" Trying not to impersonate Mount Saint Helens on a bad day, I turned around once more. "Mommy, I need the truck." I scanned the floor. "There are no trucks, Aid." "Yes, the truck cars." At this point there is a look of extreme bafflement mixed with the current annoyance. "Excuse me?" Truck cars. He looks at me, repeating over and over "truck cars mommy". Five minutes, a few tears (mine), and some exasperation later, it becomes clear to me. Tow Mater, his little truck from the movie cars, has fallen in the fateful crevice between wall and bed and was what led to the entire scene in the first place. Finally, tucked into what I'm sure must be the most uncomfortable bed ever, filled as it is with metal, I kiss him one last time, walk to the door, say I love you, and turn out the lights by pulling the chain that dangles from the fan. "Switch!" is the bloodcurdling yelp that almost makes me trip over the gate I had been in the process of stepping over. "My switch, my switch." He wants me to use the switch to turn out the light, instead of the chain, probably so he can turn it back on five minutes after I depart and resume his nighttime car show. No switch Aidyn, good night, go to bed, I love you. Big sigh. "I love you too, Mommy."