To the toddler, the crack of their door at night is more precious than all the gold and silver in the world. Shut the door and they cry and cry. But open it just a crack and they sleep restfully.

So what happened last night? I still don’t know. But I do know that the non-toddler family members were watching the latest Mission Impossible—the one, like all its predecessors, which always had the team simultaneously realizing and then stating aloud, “He wanted to be caught!”

The toddlers went down pretty easy—door was cracked. My hearing is the best out of the three of us, and so I was the first to hear some noises from their room and eventually paused the flick and rounded the corner to see that A- had climbed out of bed and turned on the hall light. Door was now wide open. J- was standing in his crib and now had Paddington—a gift from his older sister, I had to assume. As I laid him back down, he was in the mood to play, but I wasn’t, so I just covered him and turned my attention to A-.

“Gotta stay in bed, A-. It’s bed time.”

She put her arms out for a hug.

After the hug, I whispered to the dark room, “I love you. Goodnight.” Then I closed the door to just a crack and turned off the hall light as I went back to the movie.

A few minutes later, and I could hear more toddler shenanigans. Pretty much the same scene, but J- may have been closer to sleep than I would’ve guessed. Turning my attention to A-, I softly threatened, “It’s time for bed, A- If you get up again, I will shut the door.” She nodded like the perfect little angel that she is.

Back to the movie.

A few minutes later, back up stairs.

I left A-, saying, “I am closing the door. I told you this would happen.”

That was odd, I thought, as she didn’t make a peep of protest as I shut the door.

Back to the movie.

I just wanted to make it through the car chase scene, which I knew was about 10 minutes, and was sure to begin soon.

“Fart!” I suddenly had a sinking feeling. “She wants to be in the room with the door shut!”

Hitting pause once again, I went up the stairs to check on the two of them.

“No hall light on. Good,” I noticed as I turned the corner. Looking at the crack under the door, I saw the bedroom light was still off too. “That’s gotta be a good sign,” I thought. But in the movies the bad guys are always one step ahead of us good guys. So I did the unthinkable. I slowly turned the handle—so slowly. And then I opened the door a crack, and without the crack sound. As I continued in, I found little A- in some level of pre-sleep that was happy to be tucked in once again, but absolutely void of any contest. J- was out like a light.

Back downstairs we were able to finish the film without trouble. And I secretly acknowledged, with joy and anticipation, that the toddlers might actually allow me to sleep in a bit in the morning, given all these post-bedtime antics.

I was right.

Well, not about A- wanting to get shut in. But they did sleep in a bit.