When you’re trying to punch in for a full 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep, living with a bed ninja can be tough. Between Little Dude, Little Sis and all their arm-flailing, face-smacking barrel-rolling, we finally upgraded to a king mattress. It worked. The whole crew can now pile into bed and sleep without fear of being kicked in the baby-maker, becoming a sandwich or having an eye gouged out. Our new Stearns & Foster was our samurai to Little Dude’s ninjitsu.

For a week.

I’m not sure what time Little Dude hijacked us this morning, but I woke up on the edge of the bed with my face being cheese-grated by the plastic-soled feet of his zip-up footy pajamas, while Lady-Friend enjoyed repeated (and apparently unnoticed) headbutts on the other side. The bed geography may sound vague, but the pic above pretty much does the scene justice: At 6:55 AM this morning, our bed was a mussy-haired and sleep deprived recreation of Stonehenge.