The Boy 1.0™ has, on occasion, a distinct allergy to going to sleep. Thus, he will appear in the hallway at between 10:00 and 10:30 pm complaining of a variety of ailments or expressing an interest in resuming playtime.
He's complained of hangnails and overgrown fingernails, claimed there was "something scary on the ceiling" (without evincing real terror), assured us the room got darker every time he closed his eyes, complained that the humidifier was keeping him awake, he was (or various appendages were) alternately too hot or too cold to sleep, his favorite lovey was missing (later located under his pillow), wanted to play with his new favorite Hot Wheels truck, and of course the universal bad dream (insufficiently described in order to ascertain scariness) the previous night.
He hasn't grasped the trauma of global warming, economic downturn, political upheaval in the developing world, or overdue library books (yet). We've told him to call us when the Snorklewacker shows up.
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Be reasonably civil. Ire alloyed with reason is fine. But slagging the host gets you the banhammer.