Coup d'Etat

They hatched the plot sometime on Tuesday evening.
Despite the obvious language obstacles (the elder one spoke a unique kind of franglais, and the younger one communicated only in baby gurgles...), they managed to fine-tune all the stages of the plan.
Night fell.
The adults fell into bed, sleepy and unsuspecting.
The plan swung into action.

Around four-thirty a.m., the younger one began to thrash around in his Moses basket, causing it to rock and sway like a boat on stormy waters.
The parents awoke with a start.
They listened out for the sound of hungry tears, but none were forthcoming. The Baby simply cackled and kicked, enjoying himself immensely.
Maman peered down into the basket, perplexed.
The Baby grinned up at her, his eyes shining with mischief and satisfaction: he had successfully pulled off part one of his mission.

He continued to gurgle and laugh and kick for some time. The Parents lay awake, listening to him play in confused silence. Sleep crept away from them.
Until, at last, the party ended and the Baby finally gave in to slumber.
They closed their eyes gratefully.
Two minutes later, a piercing shout erupted from the next room.
The Boy was awake.

Maman stumbled out of bed and padded across the cold floor to the Boy's room. As she bent to switch on the light, she banged her tired, achey head against the corner of the dresser. A surprisingly naughty word sprang forth from her lips: the Boy stared up at her in surprise and disdain.
To the weary question "what's wrong?", the Boy merely shrugged and flopped back down under his warm covers.
Maman sighed, switched off the light and trudged back to bed.

Sleep eluded her. Her head throbbed in the dark.
Then, just as she felt she may be drifting off... another squeal erupted from next door.
The plan had reached its grand dénouement.
Maman fumbled in the dark for the alarm clock: 7:05 gleamed the nasty, fluorescent numbers.
She dragged herself out of bed for the last time, clambouring over the grouchy, horizontal, husband-shaped mass that lay heavily beside her.

The Boy had cunningly contrived to hide his dummy in the furthest corner of his bedroom. He looked on with undisguised triumph as Maman slid, snake-like, under his bed and strained to retrieve it.
Maman collapsed, allowing herself 30 seconds slumber right there, face down under the bed, the dummy clutched in her right hand.
She contemplated defeat.
Then she remembered the courage of her ancestors: Never Surrender!

But she had forgotten the most cunning post scriptum to this plan of attack.
As the first rays of daylight trickled through the shutters, and the first specks of rain tap-tapped against the windows, she remembered... it was Wednesday.
Worn out and weary, she was to be abandoned alone with both her opponents for nine hours.

That's when she finally gave up all resistance, poured herself a coffee, and gave in to the inevitable.
The Boy and the Baby had won control.
All hell broke loose.