The Napping House

The boy fell asleep halfway thru singing about his lost blue lazer-light.  I don't know how that is possible, but it is, and he did.  I suppose if I can fall asleep halfway thru praying, then he can fall asleep halfway thru singing.  Besides, he's only three so he can kind of do whatever he wants and it's still within the norm.

The dog is asleep too.  He is pressed against my right thigh, all warm and heavy and doggy-ish.  He occasionally twitches or sighs and I am feeling envious of the napping that is going on around me.

I tried to nap 3 times already.  The first time was after our 4:18 am fiasco with the leaking pull-up.  But the boy was awake enough, after the rudeness of my cold hands on his bare body as I wrestled him into dry clothes, that he couldn't fall back asleep.  His constant thrashing and twisting, combined with the irresistible nature of his tender little kisses and pleas for hugs made "napping" impossible for me as well.  Later around 10, when I realized we weren't going to make it to church in spite of being fully dressed, made up, and with keys in hand; I tried to lay down with him.  Cue the giggling and the kissing.  Man does that boy love to kiss his momma.  Add in the dog barking because 10 am is actually a busy time outside and there were any number of things that needed to be barked at.  Finally I bribed the boy with a movie and a snuggle on the couch at about 1 pm.  Cozy blankets, a few pillows, a dvd on very low volume...and I did doze off; however it was with the unfortunate rasp of Cruella DeVille snaking its way into my semi-sleep and so when the boy slithered off the couch and promptly stepped on a lego (and cried) I was brought harshly to consciousness.  I might possibly had developed a wee bit of a cranky nature by then.

Now it is after 3 and when I put him up in his own bed and told him I was setting a timer for 10 minutes so I could "wash dishes" before we went to the store, I did not expect myself to catch a second wind.  But I did.

So I sit; in this quiet, dark, napping house. I try to not think about the long evening hours ahead, but instead about the hours I spent with my little guy today;  how he showed me his "yoga" and how he made me do push-ups, and how we played legos and how I gave him fruit snacks for no reason at all, and how much I love this little boy...and the dog...and our little safe space in this life, even when everyone else gets a nap except me.

A little prayer

He doesn't understand at first.
He doesn't like wearing the crown that goes with his costume.  He doesn't want the hood up, hates the feel of  the sleeves with their built in claws dangling round his tiny wrists, and doesn't want to hold the plastic pumpkin candy bucket.
I roll up the sleeves, leave the hood dangling down his back, and at the very last minute I pop his crown on his head and distract him by showing him how to knock on the door.  The plastic candy bucket sits on the ground between his feet.
He slaps the door with his little starfish hand and looks up, up, up.  It must seem impossibly large to him.  He is so small.  So dear.  So vulnerable and sweet.  My heart cracks a little with all the love I have for this tiny little moppet of mine.

The door opens.  From my position, crouched down beside my son, I chorus the standard "Trick or Treat" with high pitched enthusiasm, trying to get him  to chime in somehow, showing him what to do, modeling the right behavior.  Things I will continue to do for years to come.  I smile encouragingly, wrap his fingers around the bucket handle and help him hold it out for the miracle of free candy.  His eyes get big as the candy drops into his bucket.  He doesn't even know what candy is, but the novelty of being given something is apparently mind boggling and he stares open mouthed and big eyed into the depths of his once empty bucket.  "ohhhh" he says.  "uh-oh!" The only words he knows, and they actually seem applicable.

I help him wave and lift him down the stairs which are too tall for his little little legs.  At the bottom of the stairs he once again gapes into his candy bucket.  He puts it on the ground and looks up at me, puzzled.  I scoop him up and kiss that sweet spot between his cheek and neck, the spot that smells like graham crackers and "baby".  "That's candy! It's your treat! Wanna do more? More houses? More candy?"  He says, "yeah" like he always does when I ask him anything.  He hasn't learned "No" yet, thank goodness, and his little whispered "yeah" is sweet and funny all at once.

After the third house, it's like a light bulb goes off in his mind and the whole entire night is illuminated with understanding.  Go to door, get stuff, wave.  Next house!  Go to door, get stuff, wave.  Next house!  He runs on his tiny little legs, zigzagging and weaving, waving at any other kids he sees, he chatters nonstop in a language of his own, so full of merriment and joy.  He has no clue that the candy is for eating.  One house gives little bags of pretzels and I open it for him and let him munch on them.  He is happy now to carry his little candy bucket and he is so full of joy that it spills out of him and lights the whole night.  We walk together in our own little bubble of joy and light and I am so grateful for this moment with him.

He is so small, my little moppet.  Such a nugget of a baby... after awhile I carry him and it isn't long before he decides that he is done.  When I put him down to knock on a door, he cries.  I pop him into the stroller and give him more pretzels and we walk quiet and smoothly now back to the car.  The leaves in the trees are rustling music for us and on the drive home he falls asleep. He is peaceful and, therefore, so am I.

I think a little prayer as I lay him in his crib and listen to his soft even breathing: God, please let us have years and years of  Trick or Treating together... Amen.

Prompt: Does Art Have Power to Cause Change OR Is It Just Pretty To Look At

prompt from English I
9/16/13

Does Art Have Power to Cause Change:

This past weekend, in some random unmemorable way, the topic of orgasms came up while myself and my two teens were hanging out.

My 17 yo son said, "mom, I really don't think we should discuss this in front of Bear!" and I replied, "Buddy, she is almost 16, I'm pretty certain she knows what an orgasm is!"

Well, much conversation ensued in which I discovered that my almost 16 year old daughter does not, indeed, know what an orgasm is and based on my 17 year olds description, when told he could explain, I'm not so sure that even HE knows what one is.  I did not elaborate however, and as is common, other topics came up and orgasms were soon forgotten.

Stay with me... this will relate to art...

Moments later while my son was going on and on and describing the absolute deliciousness of his smoothie, my daughter innocently asked him, "Does it give you hot 'organisms'?"  Lord, I admit, I pee'd my pants a little I laughed so hard. They laughed and I laughed and we all laughed til our sides ached and we were gasping for breath and weak with our own love for each other.

This? This is art: the creation of funny, innocent, smart, creative and joyful kids.  This is art: the love and laughter in a broken family.  This is art: the power of joy and kindness and humor and love, and yes - it CAN change the world.

Furry Happy Monsters

Good Night Son

Four years.

Four first day of school days each of the past four Septembers.  Four last day of school days each of the past four Junes.

Four of every imagineable holidays: Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Halloween, Fourth of July, Mothers Day... Birthdays...

Four years of missing out.

Four years worth of "go take a shower" and "is your homework done?", and "I said turn off the lights, it's way past bedtime".

Four years worth of dinner around the table and holding hands for saying grace and "get your elbows off the table" and "use your napkin NOT your jeans!" and "eat your veggies...okay half... ok fine, three bites... no that doesnt' count as a bite... fine just clear your plate".  Four years worth of sighing.

Four years worth of, "wake up, good morning!" and "are you up?" and, "lets go, come on!" and,  "GET UP!" and "RUNRUNRUN we're late!"

Four years of uncountable things gone, missed, lost, irretrievable.

Four years worth of every other Saturday, 9-9 only.

Four years worth of  "Good night son, I love you, sleep tight, sweet dreams..." uttered only to myself and the shadows in an empty room.

But last night... last night I rustled up sheets, blankets, an extra pillow.  Never mind that it was 90 degrees, and humid, I was going to make a proper bed up with sheets and blankets and pillows.  Last night I found clean towels and a bedside lamp and an extra charger for the mp3.  And then... oh God, I tucked my son into bed, in MY house, and said, "Good night son, I love you, sleep tight, sweet dreams..."

He is more than 6 feet tall now.  He has man hair on his arms and legs.  He has muscled biceps and stubble on his cheeks. He smells not of sweaty little boy, and grass, and cookies, but of deodorant, of "man".  And I hugged him and tucked him in and slept in the same house with my little boy for the first time in four years.

I woke up and made his lunch.  I nagged him to hurry, to get his book, did he remember his key, his water bottle, his backpack?  I drove him to his high school and joined the line of parents dropping off their kids.  Just like I used to do four years ago before our lives changed.  It was instinctual though, the merging into the carpool lane and inching forward little by little, the nagging...  He said goodbye as he unfolded himself out of the car, and I said, "See ya later Bud, have a good day" just like any other parent.

Four years gone... but yet this one day was heaven.

Tonight I pray will be another night I can hug him and whisper to him, "Goodnight son, I love you..."