I wasn’t feeling well tonight so, without telling anyone, I quietly put my pajamas on and went to hide in my bed, knowing that nobody in my family would look for me there before midnight. At 10pm my five year old found me, because remember, I was hiding, so nobody had put him to bed.
“Mom, if you go anywhere I will just follow you because I love you the most and I will marry you forever. And I farted at you.”
I realized if I was going to continue to nurse my headache with not talking (because it was one of those headaches that hurt worse when you talk) I was going to have to be sneaky.
I pulled out my phone and went into my Spotify app and started my new favorite public playlist called “Sleep, Baby Sleep.”
“Mom. It’s not going to make me go to sleep this time. I promise.”
I had developed full confidence in “Sleep, Baby Sleep,” and felt genuine affection for the stranger that created it. I wasn’t worried.
“Moooom, my eyes are still open,” he bragged, 45 seconds into the first song, a slow sweet piano solo of “Itsy Bitsy Spider.”
“See….I am still awake,” he said at the end of the song. It was only 90 seconds long.
We moved onto a beautiful piano rendition of “Here Comes The Sun.” Still no sleep, but also no talking.
Three minutes later “Brother John” starts. I hear a yawn, He shifts his head from his pillow to my softer butt.
“Mom,” he says in a much softer and slower voice, “I think it IS going to make me go to sleep again.”
And it did.
Whims 