Bed Time is A Crisis

It was well past his bedtime, so late Mom was ready to crawl into her own bed for the night.  Unlike the stubborn little guy pouting in the hall Mom was more then ready for this time of the day.  All the main floor lights were shut down and she was determined to get that frustrating littlest man into bed then find her own before she fell asleep on her feet.  She walked up stairs intentionally stomping to give him a serious hint about how serious she was about him returning to his bed.

Mom spotted her youngest down the hall from his room, shoulders hunched, facing the wall and curled up with his hands firmly wrapped around his knees.  A look of determination with a touch of sleepiness was written all over his face. At the sight of her youngest baby her heart softened and all she wanted to do was reach out and hold him.  With out a word she sat down next to him.  She reached over and rubbed his back a little.  He sniffed and his look of anger melted away into a fat lipped frown.  Softly Mom put her arm around him and gently aided him to standing up. It had been a very hot day and he was still very warm so she lead him to the wash-room and wiped his face with a cool cloth.  He continued to pout but as long as she didn’t say a word he didn’t argue with her.  She took his hand in hers and in spite of his irritation at her returning him to his bedroom he held her hand back.

The room was dark but the heat of the day hung thickly.  Mom turned on the ceiling fan and opened the window.  Her littlest man laid down and waited for her to cover him with a thin cool sheet. She sat down on the bed next to him and pulled the sheet up to his chin.  Her heart and her head were full of thoughts about the day all swirling around colliding with the thoughts of here and now.  She smiled down at him, rubbed his back again and grinned as little man tried to look very awake while he rolled over and yawned.  He found a wooden toy flute under his pillow and as her hand slowly rubbed his shoulders he half heartedly blew through the flute, ‘toot toot’.    She leaned over and kissed his young soft face and the flute was quietly and slowly still calling ‘toot…. toot… …toot’.

In the quiet of the evening the thought of holding him all night entered her head.  She adored his soft skin and wonderful little face.  With love blinders on she thought about how delightful his personality is and how strong his little character is… she didn’t think about his stubborn disobedience about staying in bed, or his outburst at supper because the chicken didn’t taste like pizza…

Taking the flute that was now silently resting in his limp hand mom put it up on his book shelf.  She said a prayer over him and slowing, almost forcefully, removed herself from the room.  Checking in on each of the other kids she offered up silent prayers for the older siblings and planted a kiss on each little persons head.  Mom stole away toward her own bed, soft of foot and with a happy heart, confident she would be thrilled to do all this mom stuff again tomorrow.

Always Lady Mac an Rothaich


Considerate and polite comments are always welcomed.