Well, as the basher was finally dozing and I was about to detach him and place him in his crib, the punk opened the door and smiled, as if to say, "I'm cute. Therefore, I am exempt from punishment." In a whisper, I instructed him to go back to bed, to which he loudly replied, "WHAT?" Luckily, the basher was tired enough that he only fluttered his eyelids, but did not wake up. After I made silent strangling signs, the punk understood. Just kidding. But he did go back to his room. When I tiptoed out of the dozing basher's room, the punk had come out again and was placing his stool by the toilet so he could get to it. He demanded that I let him do everything himself, which takes forever, but okay. It made him happy to accomplish something so magnificent. With his business done, I again led him back to bed.
Finally, a deep breath. I put the groceries away and picked up a few things. I even managed to resist the java chip ice cream I just bought; all I wanted was a minute on the couch and some silence.
Right when I sat down, I heard a door shut loudly upstairs, a shrill, tired cry from the basher, and the punk's footsteps down the hall. Awesome. The basher had slept for 30 minutes and the punk, not at all. Only 3 more days until my man returns home. No, that's too long. Only 5 more hours until bedtime? No, that doesn't work for me either. Only 2 1/2 more hours until my brother comes over to wrestle with my boys and make yummy noises as he eats dinner with us? Yes, I can deal with 2 1/2 hours.
After all, they have their cute moments too: