hold me

jane and grey have been yelling and playing happily in their room for about half an hour. the problem: it's bedtime. i've already tucked them in twice. jane has already prayed for "no bad dreams and no sad dreams, only happy dreams," among other useful things. and now i am sitting here, pinned by flora and a stupid summer cold (seriously, what gives?) while brad is with the missionaries, and the children are in there playing like jungle beasts.
finally, a thud. now grey is crying. it was inevitable, right? the door opens and they pitter-patter down the hall. thankfully i don't see blood. as the oldest and not-crying child, jane launches into an explanation. "well you see, grey was playing on my bed, and he wouldn't stop, so i tried to carry him to his bed, and i dropped him and he hit his mouth." grey is calmer now, but still breathing hard and holding dd up to his nose. he has a scrape there, but it should heal quickly. i reassure them both, and jane chirps happily, "let's get you a band-aid! although i don't know how you will breathe with a band-aid on your nose." i play the mom card again and say let's wait on the band-aid.
jane has one more idea. "i should sleep in grey's bed to make him feel better." he likes the idea, so i tell them they can cuddle for a while as long as they're quiet.
grey runs back to their room; jane lingers to pick up a couple toys from earlier. i tell her she shouldn't pick up grey anymore because she doesn't want to hurt him. she thinks about it, then she agrees.
"maybe i can carry him when i'm seventeen." she pauses. "Or eight." she pauses again. "Or maybe i'll still be too little."
"we'll talk about it then," i say.