Our house. Friday night.
Mom and Dad put kids to bed, and Mom heads to the store for milk. Mom returns, and the minute she walks in the door, she hears Kid #2 (who is, ironically, out of bed) yelling, "Mom, Max is out of his bed!" Mom runs upstairs to put everyone back where they belong and finds Kid #3 sitting on the landing in his flotation suit. Mom stifles a smile, herds the wee one back to his bed and tells him he needs to take the suit off. Kid #3 starts crying and begging to wear the suit to bed. Mom throws up her hands and says, "Fine." (She has learned to pick her battles and this one just isn't worth it).
Mom and Dad sit down to watch a movie and shortly hear all manner of thumping and bumping coming from upstairs. Dad takes a turn and comes back reporting that it was the boys wrestling on the floor--Kid #3 still wearing his suit.
A few minutes later, there is more unauthorized noise upstairs, and Mom goes up to find Kid #3 lying on the landing, kicking the stair rails, without his suit on.
Finally, everyone is back in bed and, eventually, sleeping soundly.