I love to read to my kids. As anyone who has cuddled up to read with a child knows, there’s not much out there that beats the experience. But last night I was tired. Really, really tired. We’d had two under 10 house guests for four days, kids who I love. But two kids squared is still a handful and I needed some recovery time, so I tried begging off the nightly read-in.

“How about I get tonight off?”

My youngest looked puzzled. Did I mention he’s the one that likes more than a little routine to his days? But he didn’t say anything, just nodded and wandered off.

Hmm. I thought. That was easy.

Soon though, he was back.

“How about this,” he suggested. “How about, I give you tomorrow night AND Friday night off, if you just read to me tonight?”

It was all right there in his face and then some. He was tired too. He had been sharing his Dad and me for days.

How could I possibly refuse?

“All right,” I told him. “But you don’t have to give up tomorrow night or Friday.”

No, I wanted to say, after looking into that swimming-pool-sun-kissed face, those deep blue eyes, eyes which will be staring straight into mine for only a little while longer.

You’re not going to have to give up any nights from now on. You’re going to have to tell me when to stop. And I will. But not till then.