Bedtime.

“If they had separate bedrooms”, I think to myself as I go in to prevent Tom’s headstand on his brother’s bed resulting in Tom landing on his brother’s head, “then I’m sure they’d settle to sleep sooner.”

 To be fair, Jacob – once he has got over the excitement of being two years old and being able to commit such daring deeds as emptying the clothes drawer, flinging various objects down the stairs and flinging himself on his brother, generally tends to fall asleep before too much time has elapsed. The bedtime routine, (bath, pyjamas, nappy change and story) appears to signal to Tom that now is the time for much jumping and spinning and crashing, interspersed with quiet bouts of block building, followed by shouting, singing and more jumping around.

 I enter the room and tell Tom to return to his own bed. He gives me a huge grin and collpases back on Jacob’s bed, giggling as he does so.

 “Get into your own bed!” I tell him, patient- mum rapidly being replaced by not-so-patient-she-devil, since I have had to remove him off his brother’s bed countless times this night. “Jacob is …”

 “AAH JACOB!” he shouts out.

 “Jacob is sleeping”, I inform him, then get him to repeat part of it in the hope he’ll understand.

 “Jacob is …”

 Tom places his palms together to the side of his head.

 “That’s right. Jacob is sleeping. He’s tired. Tom’s bedtime too. Into your bed.”

 Tom dutifully trots over and lies down, for all of three seconds. He stands up and begins jumping.

 “Settle down!” I tell him. He gets down off the bed and goes to his trampoline. I relent, ensuring that I will be forever scorned by SuperNanny but realising that, in the mood he’s in, sleep isn’t about to come anytime soon.

 “Five minutes” I tell him. I don’t know how much he understands about time, but hopefully he knows it means he can only jump for a short while.

 After five minutes are up I go back in and tell him to get back in his bed. He does so and this time lies down.

 “Aha!” I muse happily. “The jumping’s finally tired him out.

 Ten minutes later a small, yet growing steadily louder, voice comes floating up the stairs.

 “YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH!”

 This time, when I check to see what is happening, he is grabbing Jacob’s hands (or trying to at any rate) and waving them bout the place. Thankful that Jacob hasn’t woken up yet (he is a light sleeper) I remove Tom and, once more, tell him to get back into his own bed. And again, he dutifully clambers back and lies down.

  Thus a pattern, familiar every night, emerges for the next ninety minutes or so. Every time I check Tom can be found either jumping, shouting, building and making patterns with his blocks or practising for the Olympic Gymnasts Team on either bed. And , every time, I place Tom back in his bed, or tell him to get back and he settles for anything from a few minutes to a few seconds.

 Except now I realise that I’ve not heard anything for at least fifteen minutes. No sound of blocks being shifted around, no songs being sung, no shouting, no movement, just quietness. Realising this could just mean he is busy getting into silent mischief I head down to see what he’s up to.

 At first I can’t spot him, he’s not on the floor and, after a quick check under the quilt on his bed I establish he’s not there either. And then I glance round.

 The pair of them are lying on Jacob’s bed, Tom’s head is nestled next to his brother’s, both pairs of feet touching. Their breathing is calm and easy, their faces soft and gentle as they are carried away by whatever dreams they are floating on.

 Separate bedrooms? They can wait.