Pushover

Last night, D and I were watching the last season of Lost after E had been hustled off to bed (don't judge, we only have 3 episodes left and things are getting tense).  When what to my wondering eyes should appear but a small, tousled brown head and a pair of slightly slanted brown baby eyes peering over the top of my couch. 
"Yes?" D & I both sighed, as I pressed pause on the remote.
"You guys didn't check on me!" E exclaimed reproachfully.

*Now, this is a nightly ritual where we negotiate with him how frequently one of us will walk the thirty feet from the living room to his bedroom, so he can be reassured that we haven't completely abandoned him in the few intervening minutes.  He has issues.  To be fair, most of the time we assume he's gone to sleep and don't actually check on him.  Hence the getting out of bed to reproach us.  And the issues.  Obviously.

"Consider this your check, then," D said.
"Ok," E sighed.  "But I have to check my backpack to make sure "The Substitute Teacher From the Black Lagoon" is in there." 

*What? This is absolutely a necessity at 8:45 in the evening? Lost is waiting, son! Lost is waiting!!
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Commence pitter-pattering at barely-visible-level behind the couch into the kitchen, followed by unzipping of said backpack. An interminable pause later...
"It's there." He announced triumphantly.
"Oh, good. [We can rest easy now.] Now go back to bed."
"Ok.  But check on me in five minutes."  He said sternly.
"Fine.  As long as you don't get up again."

After he'd gone, D started muttering about how this little habit had to end, and how it was ridiculous, and that he wouldn't stand for it, and that E was going to get a stern talking to the next time, blah blah blah. I started laughing.

"You're all bark and no bite.  He'll call for you, you'll start blustering, stomp in there, and he'll turn those big eyes on you and you'll just melt like you always do."

He grinned sheepishly.  "Well, I can't help it.  He's a little you."