“Despite the Vomit, Why We Don’t Send the Lad to Be Fostered at the Nearest Castle”
He could end up a page to some dashing knight if we did, you know. And he’d learn the ins and outs of keeping chain mail rust free, which is a skill I’d like at least one member of the family to have.
Yet we keep him.
I was reminded the other morning why that is.
At 7 a.m., he burst into our bedroom, hollering, “Can my night-time be done now? I’m a little sweaty.”
I like the fact that he has his own, personal night-time. He really does. It often ends at 3 a.m., when he gets up and asks to look at books for a few hours in the office room, so as not to awake his sister, Model Sleeper Girl (aka “The One We Want to Keep”), whose bed is adjacent to his. But on this particular morning, he had actually slept through the night–well, largely, anyhow, only getting up three times for water, to announce he didn’t like the dark, and for general morale-boosting conversation breaks.
So, okay, kiddle, your night can be done now. Just stop being sweaty before you leap into bed with us, ja? Go wipe yourself down with a ducky blankie or something, and then climb aboard.
Crawling under the covers and nuzzling into me, he was uncharacteristically quiet for a minute and a half. Then the newly-anointed-four-year-old threw out this day-opener: “In China, does it really rain cherry blossoms?”
#1, Child, where do you get your material? (Turns out it’s in a Charlie and Lola episode. If you have kids in your life, or if you are a smart adult without kids, you might check into these books and videos. Lola proclaims she will not ever, never eat a tomato, and she has an invisible friend named Soren Lorenson. Lola drinks pink milk, and she rocks.)
#2, Well, yea, sorta. From the trees. Sometimes. Actually, even more in Japan, technically.
#3, Man, do I like a kid who genuinely wants to know the answer to that question. Even if it is 7 a.m., and a pall of darkness still hangs over my brain.
Then the Niblet fell quiet again. I could tell he was pondering, as he began stroking his fingers across his skin.
Breaking the silence, he observed, “My hands are very soft, like a very soft pillowcase.”
And that, dear readers, is why the neighboring castle–despite having a dungeon that Niblet sometimes deserves to be tossed into–can’t have this kid.
Do tell: What in your life have you considered jettisoning out the window, but then it’s redeemed itself?
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