Brandt is an early riser. Always has been. Kent and I are not. Well, I should say, Kent and I were not, until Brandt arrived, since his birth and the joining of our family, I can remember one time we set the alarm clock and had it wake us before Brandt, and that was when we had to be up super early so we could catch an airplane. Otherwise, Brandt gets us up.
This morning Brandt woke and Kent brought him into our bedroom and put him in our bed. Kent left the room to go to the bathroom and Brandt snuggled up next to me. I love wrapping myself around him in the safe cocoon of the bed sheets, tight against my chest. He likes it too.
We have a projection clock that shines the time onto the ceiling so that no matter how dark it is, we know what time it is, and I suppose we can tell exactly how much sleep we are missing if the children get us up in the night.
This morning Brandt joined me at 6:15. He nestled in. A moment later he said, "Six one six."
"It is still a bit early for our eyes to be open," I said. "Why don't you close yours and rest them a bit longer."
No sound for a moment.
"Six one seven," he said.
"What number is one seven?" I asked. Brandt has been learning the teen numbers at school, and he doesn't always get them right. A good mom takes every opportunity to help her child learn and to reinforce good things already learned, right?
"Seventeen," Brandt said.
Quiet stillness.
"Six one eight."
"Why don't we get up," I said, "and go watch TV?"
Brandt leapt out of bed, I crawled out and collected my biking togs, and downstairs we went, passing Kent in the hallway headed back to bed to rest his eyes a bit longer. Why fight what you can't change?
No comments:
Post a Comment