Ready For Bed

Tonight I was putting Jack to bed, sitting in the chair with him on my lap, and we were reading "I Spy," this 30-year-old, falling apart hardcover edition that we'd had when we were kids. On each page are pictures of common objects and things - a door, a house, a car, an apple, a rabbit, etc. And he was into it, maybe as into it as any other book I've read to him, which is probably only partly due to it being a good children's book, and partly due to him being 18 months old, and getting smarter, and more interested, and having more of an attention span.

Anyway, at some point I thought it was getting near that time, and so I put the book aside, and was going to turn out the light and rock him a bit, and instead he got off my lap, walked the two steps to the shelf where I'd put the book, grabbed it, and brought it back to me. And I said, well, all righty then. Guess we'll read a little bit more.

It got me thinking that sometimes I'm a little impatient with others; other adults, other kids, Jack. My mind moves a little too quickly at times, and sometimes I've left one thought behind and moved onto the next one without even realizing that I glossed right over the previous one that's still important to somebody else. I thought it was time for Jack to sleep, I thought he'd had enough of that book - and I was wrong. He had a few more minutes, and he hadn't had enough of "I Spy."

Sometimes, like tonight, I see Jack running around, which he's doing, hugging his Mommy's legs, and mine, patting Charlie ("Teddy!"), drinking his water (his, not Charlie's), and playing with his toys. And I want those moments to last forever. I don't want them to end. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever. They're just too beautiful.

Of course, there are times when he wants to stay up and it really IS time for bed, but there's a happy medium there between making sure he doesn't stay up too late, and putting him to bed too early. And the next time my mind is racing about to the next moment rather than the moment we're in, I hope I recognize it, and take a step back. Him going to bed five minutes later isn't the worst thing in the world. Reading an extra five minutes, sometimes, is one of the best.

We read the book for about 5 more minutes, me pointing out different pictures, him recognizing some of them (train! boat! big car!), me being patient. And then I put the book aside, turned out the light, and he put his head on my chest. And I sang him froggie went a' courting or somesuch and put him to bed. And not much later, he went to sleep, because he was ready.