Tony and I were talking about morning duty, that is, who rises with the boys and who gets to sleep in. Normally, we take turns, but after both of us being sick so much, the “schedule,” such as it was, had gotten out of whack.

“I’ll get up tomorrow, ” I said blithely. “Getting out of bed when it’s still dark is rough, but once I’m up, it’s fine. Eli’s so sweet and cuddly in the morning, he and Ben play really well together. It’s just about keeping the cereal bowls full and playing a lot of play kitchen.”

I had it coming to me, really.

I mean, I know by now to preface any statement about their good sleep with “Well, right now…” and to conclude with “It’s sheer good luck, truly.” I know not to tempt fate with foolish claims like, “The boys haven’t been sick in ages,” “Ben treats Eli well,” or “The guys are easy travelers.”

I don’t know what I was thinking.

Eli and I got up at 6:30. Ben got up at 7:00. It was all good.

And from some perspectives, the fact that within the hour Eli was bathed and a load of laundry in the washer looks good, too.

But without getting deeply into the very messy, diapery details, it was, briefly, not very good at all. It was, as we’ve been known to say sometimes, a bit of a haz-mat situation.

We’re all good now, thanks. But tomorrow I’m sleeping in.