I'm outnumbered.

If this was Friday night, I wouldn't care that it's 10pm and I'm sitting here listening to Hop play his Leapfrog Guitar in the other room (in Spanish, btw) despite the fact that I've told him 527 times not to get out of his bed again. In fact, if it were Friday, I'd just let him stay up til Midnight if he wanted because then MAYBE, I'd be able to sleep past 5:30am the next morning. And if it were Friday, I'd go ahead and just have another glass of wine and not get irritated at the fact that he has taken apart yet another spiral notebook and there are 500 pieces of small paper on the floor and he co-opted the trashcan from the bathroom because why, Why, WHY, WHY IS THE TRASHCAN IN YOUR BED?? And I wouldn't care that he is only two but has already mastered the teenager's art of IGNORING HIS MOTHER. But it isn't Friday, I'm tired, we have to get up in the morning. And so, I just told him for the 528th time to go to sleep and that if he doesn't get in his bed by the count of THREE, THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES... and he just laughed at me because, dude, he doesn't know how to count.