If I could have a wish list, I'd wish for him to grow up happy, healthy and helpful to the human race. And somewhere after that, I'd wish for the Boy to sleep in just a little later in the morning. Especially on weekends.
So it's Sunday morning, and the Boy and I are sleeping on the fold-out couch at Granny and Poppa's house. It's early in the morning and I'm half-dozing, happy that he is still in bed and letting me get a little rest. It's not eight o'clock yet. It's around 7:30, somewhere in there. His cousins, one who is six and another who is four, are upstairs thumping and bumping and running around.
Suddenly a Boy is wide awake beside me, awake from the noise, the shoe on the other foot now and all that, and he is put out from having been woken up, commenting with a disgusted voice:
Boy: They sound like Santa Claus up there.
No comments:
Post a Comment