Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Spackle Gazing

Last night Connor hit the wall. He's body was screaming "Put me to bed," but his mind was going to fight every last urge to slumber. His tiredness manifest itself in general unpleasantness and disobedience. After having about all I could take, I instructed him to just lie down in his bed. At that point, it appeared that Connor waived the white flag and yielded to his fatigue. He ascended the stairs to his top bunk and lay his head on the pillow.

I then read the boys one of my favorite children's books, "Wilfrid Gordon McDonald Partridge." It's a book about a little boy who tries to discover the answer to the question, "What is a memory?" He learns it can be warm, and old, and more precious than gold (among others).

After the book, I climbed up into Connor's bunk and laid my body parallel to his. We both gazed at the ceiling, staring at the spackle. Connor pointed to the ceiling and showed me all the things he imagined the spackle resembled (a hand, a bear, a lizard). It was our indoor version of star gazing. It was peaceful and interesting and endearing.

Afterwards, I thought a memory is something that can be simple, but amazing...like staring at spackling on the ceiling.

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