Last night, two things happened.
1) My neighbor, back in Utah, called me to tell me that we had transients getting a little too cozy with our home. Hanging out in the front yard, having picnics. Taking chairs off our front porch. That sort of thing. I told her to alert the neighbors, put on her mean face, & tell them to get off our property, or else. Hope that works.
I went to sleep a little shaken, worried about our home far away, that’s not quite our home anymore.
2) A few hours later, something occurred that made me forget about worries of our home. Hyrum woke up several times during the night crying. He said his leg hurt. Growing pains, I assume.
He’s not a baby. Almost 7 now, but he still needs his mom.
This is how I will remember him, even when he’s 35.
At one point he snuggled into bed with me & asked me to tell him a story.
I’m not much of a storyteller, but when I’m half asleep, I can tell a good story with the best of them. If I only I could harness my creative energy from that dream-like state of grogginess, I could make something of myself yet.
I don’t remember all the details (it was 3 am, after all), only that it involved some bunnies named Buck & Lopsi (I’m telling you, when I’m half asleep these things just come to me). It turned out to be a morality tale, as Buck in the end learned three important lessons about self-less love, being honest & that ice cream is always better when shared.
While the details of the story are sketchy at this point, I know Hyrum was riveted because when I finished he said, “I really liked that story mom. ” I held him. And thought about the moments between wakefullness & dreaming , where somehow, my job as a mother is defined.
Yes, I tell stories, to crying children, in my bed, at 3 am.
And they are good stories. ♥♥♥