Every night at bedtime, Bug and I have a ritual. I get him all tucked into bed, lay down next to him, and sing to him while I rub his back. Despite the fact that he's 10 1/2 years old, this is a hugely important ritual to him every night. He sleeps better when we don't skip it.
But last night, I went to bed before everyone else did. Bug came in to say goodnight, and laid down next to me. I asked him if maybe he'd want to sing to me? And in his little voice, he sang
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are gray. You'll never know, Mom, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away.
He gave me a kiss, an I love you!, and wandered out.
I really love that kid.
There are some things I've wondered about lately:
How bad does a headache have to get before you just give in and admit it's kicking your butt?
Is it possible to survive on beef ramen alone?
When all you want is to be invisible, and left to your own devices, why is it that THAT is the exact moment in your life when there is no escaping anyone or anything?
Why can't there be any nutritional value in popcorn? Especially popcorn slathered with movie theater butter?
When is someone going to show up on my doorstep with gooey, warm chocolate chip cookies and french vanilla ice cream? Or cold cookies and ice cream? Or even just one or the other?
Or combine them, and make it chocolate chip ice cream?