Early Bedtime Overrated

Ha! Careful what you say....

Last night, the last kid friend went home at 10:00 p.m. after a barbecue and ice cream. Trinidad then decided to sleep outside. He got on his "other clothes" (they choose not to do pajamas, but sleep in their next day's clothes) and brushed his teeth while I peeled, sliced and cored apples for the dehydrater. Sam liked his brother's idea, but the notion of getting ready for bed fell beyond the realm of his will power. He moaned and collapsed on the couch with a Spiderman book.

Five year old Sam read to me about Spiderman and Doc Ock. Then, another Spiderman book. I kept peeling and coring. Then he picked up the Beatrix Potter anthology and read me more than half of Peter Rabbit -- and that's a long story. We all celebrated Sam's ease and joy in reading even the big words like "responsibility" and "scythe" with complete independence. Trinidad found himself inspired enough to read part of a Little Critter book, too.

At 11 p.m. I had two racks left to fill in the dehydrator. Seda had gone to sleep in the hammock in our garden. Trin had fallen asleep half on the futon and half off, waiting for me. Sam kept reading to himself. The doors of our house stood open to the rising breeze. Lightning began to flash and thunder rumbled.

I finished the last tray, washed my hands, and invited Sam outside. He popped around the corner in a wink. Trin proved unrousable. Sam and I sat alone on the back deck and watched the show. Lightning streaked across all parts of the sky overhead, illuminating clouds of purple and gold. Sheet lightning flashed behind our enormous willow tree and the leaves and branches stood black in skeletal relief. Thunder clapped and rolled.

Sam ran to get a sleeping pad he had prepared for his evening's sleep. I got a pillow. We snuggled up next to one another and talked about each flash, our wonder and appreciation for the night's beauty. At almost midnight, Sam adjusted his pillow. "What is that?" he asked sharply and jerked his hand back. "A slug?!"

"Ooooh! I'm probably laying on one -- oh, I am!" We both jumped up, laughing hysterically.

Today, I notice that my fingers are not striking the keyboard where I tell them to. The words don't flow as easily as I'd like. My brain is foggy, it's true, with the sleep I did not get. But I have a memory, and so does my sweet boy.