So the other night, I'm putting my son to bed. You know, the typical routine: He complains about going to bed too early ("but daaaaaaaad"); clothes get tossed; pajamas on; teeths brushed/then brushed some more; pile into bed; he reads; I read; lights out; say our prayers; talk some, and then if all goes well, he konks-out like a drunken hobo ... snores and all.
On this night though, he asks me an off-the-wall, what-the-heck, where-the-did-that-come-from question right before the konks-out part. Now, being a question of bad timing and unrealistic expectation (something like he should get something that his friends' got) - I replied, to the effect, "You know, you take me for a push-over, don't you?" To which he replied, in two parts: Part 1) "Yea, I do kinda." Part 2) "Oopps, that was a thought bubble that went pop." And you know, as soon as he said that, we both started cracking up. And I'm not talking about some little giggle, but a full-out, side-splitting, leg-kicking, tears-of-laughter roar! Maybe you had to be there; but for us, at the time, it was a reeeeeaal doozy.
It felt great.
After the laughter subsided, and he asleep (with his head on my chest, as always) - I lied there longer than usually, smiling in the dark, cherishing the moment.
Cherished Moments Are Good.
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