It’s three am. This is clearly a time that no human should ever be awake. Unless, perhaps, you are a doctor or a police person. Or the president. But no OTHER humans should be up. AT ALL.
And yet, here is Red, standing next to my bed about two inches from my shut eyeballs. His little face is glowing like an heart attack inducing alarm clock. For the past three nights, Red waits until about three am, and then… he wakes UP. Like BIG UP.
Like, he decides he’s Jimmy Fallon and I’m his next guest, UP.
I am ensconced so firmly in my sleep that when I am woken by Sir Chatsalot I am unsure of who he is. There is this… a child here. How did he get here? Clearly, he is not supposed to be here. How did I have children? Perhaps this is a post for a different type of blog. But still, child, who are you?
And then, the questions:
“Where’s my balloon?”
“Canna I fly my paper airplane tomorrow?”
“Is dis a big ouchie or a little ouchie?”
“Can you tell us about your next movie?” (Ok, he didn’t really ask that one, but I was trying to continue the Jimmy thing…)
This is super annoying, I know. Even Jimmy Fallon fails to entertain when one is in DEFCON 5 level sleep. And it would be immediate fodder for a stern talking to and immediate escort back to bed, if not for that fact that my sweet Red also has had a fever these past two nights.
Evidently, a 101 temp makes Red very… convivial. He wants to share his deepest thoughts and dreams, and he wants to ASK about mine. So at three am, I answer the poor dear as best as I can with assorted grunts and ahums, check temps, administer water, maybe meds, find Captain Spots (his stuffed hyena, of course), and get his chatty little bum back in bed.
So, here’s the problem. I might have said, in my three am mutterings, that Red could go to VBS in the morning. I might have. There is no actual PROOF of this, but since the kid was basically asking me everything short of my blood type and do I prefer regular or spicy sushi rolls.
So BAMMO, next morning, there is a sad SAD little toddler who is gonna miss Da SUPER SPIES! And he IS a SUPER SPY! And der were clues! And he is gonna MISS da clues! And, most epic and catastrophic of all: he is gonna miss da caaaaaaaaandyyyyy!
My kids don’t get out much.
Our church’s VBS (vacation bible school, for those of you who are terrible heathens or who have no children to farm off to these things because, FREE CHILDCARE!) is the International Spy Academy this year. It’s got Jesus ,and SPIES! My older child has been running around the house with a magnifying glass and some clues that make absolutely no sense because, well, he created them. It has provided hours of entertainment.
And now, I have a sick spy who is obviously feeling demoted.
So, what does Momsie do when she needs to provide comfort and extra special care?
Thank you Netflix, for saving the day. Red sat on the couch in his Elmo jammies (spy uniform) and watched this classic not once, but three times today.
I realize it’s not exactly SPY material, but ders da clues! And da magnafrying glasses! And we will solve the case, together, right Mommah?
And we did. We cuddled, ate grape popsicles, and rooted Basil on as he uncovered Rattigan’s dastardly deeds.
Did I mention we cuddled? The whole time? Sometimes a sick toddler who allows himself to just rest and take in a movie is a mommah’s dream.
And before you snark at me about copious television watching, YOU try to tell this one that he can’t go play spy with his brother at da church. Go on, I dare you.