Bedtime Ritual

WRITE. Every day in March write a slice of life story on your own blog. SHARE. Link your post in the comments on each daily call for slice of life stories here at TWT. GIVE. Comment on at least three other slice of life stories/blogs.Day 27

Smell of shampoo greeted me as a wet head tucked up to my cheek from behind.  I gave my big boy a hug, as my husband only half joked, "How do you get her to stop writing to give you a hug?"  J's reply, "She wasn't writing she was on facebook."  Busted! I had just tucked my baby girl in and turned on the computer, and checked my blogger stats, email, and yes facebook page. . .

Then just as quickly as that little hug, the conversation changed to eyesight, "When we see, it isn't really the objects we see, it is the light reflecting off of them."  This is my eleven year old talking and he could just as easily have tipped the conversation to fishing, or fractions, you just never know. "If the lens is too flat light goes right past the retina, causing farsightedness.  If the lens is too convex light won't make it to the retina, causing nearsightedness."  This is how it works around here, I never know what this guy will choose to share or when, but this is a good time to listen in.  I creak back in my desk chair and watch his hands wave around as if squeezing an invisible beach ball as he talks.

Seconds later my younger son comes out of the bathroom in underwear and dripping hair.  My husband herds the two upstairs, only to lose one, less than a minute later.  The oldest races down the stairs shoulders slightly hunched elbows and knees flying, gives me a sideways glance and sneaks his hand under the coffee table, and hunchy head down elbows flying up the stairs he goes with a crinkly plastic bag of. . . something.

As I write this, my husband has just returned from reading, seems like it was a short read tonight, (he is still upset about yesterday)  The usuall request to come upstairs calls me away for a moment. . . I leave my screen shining, cursor blinking and head upstairs.  I turn first to the youngest.  He is the backscratch King, I scratch every inch, notice his ear is red tonight (he isn't usually the red eared one) as he asks, "You didn't call anyone did you?"  He is worried his Uncle will find out about his blowout tantrum yesterday morning. "No. I haven't called anyone."  He didn't really look relieved, then we exchanged "I love you."'s and a hug.  As I move around the room to another boy, I am thinking our mom and dad tag team talk last night had some effect after all.  He appologized to me about 10 times today.  My oldest rolls over for a backrub, and when I ask if he has been reading the book he just got the other night, he remembers, "Oh yeah I wanted to finish it, can you turn my lamp back on?  Look how far I got last night... "  I am not surprised to see there are probably only about 8 pages unread.  Then more "Love You's" and "Goodnight."

I pad sock footed down the stairs and return to the blinking cursor and here I am again, sitting, tapping keys, and thinking that I should reread the email my middle guy's teacher sent about an issue at school with another student.  C has been a good friend to this likable kid who seems to struggle, alot.  But lately, the boy has been doing things C finds mean.  I think of C's tantrum yesterday and wonder if it had more to do with this on and off friendship than a hat. . .  I know my husband needs to read the words she wrote about our son, the one who gives us headaches at home.  I know I need to remember them when his hard time turns into my hard time.

"Please keep me informed if this continues.  I adore C and admire the amazing person that he is and I  don't ever want him to feel badly especially because he is so incredibly helpful and caring with ___.  He deserves to be treated with utmost respect as he is always such a respectful and giving soul!"

And now as finish reflecting, I post my slice here, and on Two Writing Teachers and I wrap up my bedtime ritual. 

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