Friday, November 27, 2009

Mom's Bed

This morning, I woke up next to two small girls. Babies are so soft in the morning. I pull them in close and kiss the cheeks, the noses and the chubby little hands. I stare in awe at the perfection of their features and at the reminder that they are mine. Soon they begin to stir (I'm sure it has nothing to do with my tickling their noses with my hair or my stroking their feathery eyelashes). They smile up at me with puffy good morning eyes; the four year old pats my cheeks. As they slowly wake up, we begin to giggle and play. Another girl crawls under the blankets and we work together to teach the baby animal sounds and body parts. It is the beginning of her home schooling, a school where siblings instruct and encourage siblings. Soon, another child comes in to Mom's bed. She joins in the merriment. Our boy slips in next to me and tells me all about his dream. I'm not really listening--I am too distracted by his face. He is changing. He isn't soft in the morning anymore. He talks about real things and can be so gentle with his sisters. He finishes his dream and begins telling stories to the girls. The plot is typical for my nearly eleven year old boy: Through a sad, blind-sided swipe, we learn that butterflies are evil. The only way to kill them is by shooting them, but, have you ever tried to shoot a butterfly? It is very difficult. The next ten minutes are consumed by animated instructions on how to shoot a butterfly. Seriously, son. Gonna go after unicorns and rainbows next? But, it's okay. We are all laughing hysterically at his training video. Eventually it is time to get out of the warm, soft bed. Bladders are full and stomachs are growling, but we linger a bit longer. We don't get to do this kind of thing every day. Speculation about Christmas begins. What will you ask for, what will you give? How old is Santa? Mom, tell us about your favorite Christmas. Do you remember the snow last year? and there is always a renegade question, Mom, were you born with freckles?

I know these days will be gone before I know it. I try to treasure them and I think I do. There is a line in the movie Finding Neverland, about J.M. Barrie, the author of Peter Pan. He said,
Young boys should never be sent to bed... they always wake up a day older.
Just another thing I want to always remember: Mom's bed.

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