"Mom, I need cuddles."
"OK, just for a minute. But you need to stop talking so you can sleep."
"I like talking."
"Yes, I know."
I climb in bed with him and hug him tight. He stares at my face. Slowly he outlines my eyebrows with his finger.
"Why do you have hair over your eyes?" he asks.
"You do, too," I direct his finger to his eyebrows. "Do you know what they're called?"
I smile, thinking of how eyebrows arch, just like a setting sun as it sinks down over the horizon. One of our favorite activities is watching the sun set over the lake from our friend's waterfront home, or even better, from their pontoon boat.
"They're called eyebrows," I tell him.
He laughs. Then he lightly touches my eye lashes.
"Do you know what those are called?" I ask, curious what eye lashes should be called, according to a 3-year-old.
"Mom, those are eyeballs," he says.
I touch my eyelashes. "Yes, and these are eyelashes," and pointing to my eyelids, I say, "And those are eyelids."
His face becomes very concerned. "I don't have eyelids."
"Sure you do."
"No," he becomes adamant. "I've never, ever seen them!"
I guess it's true that he's ever seen the outsides of his own eye lids. Hmmmm.
Before I can come up with an answer, he starts singing. Loudly. Loud enough to wake up his brother.
I shush him, and tell him again that it's time to stop talking.
He continues. I get frustrated.
"That's enough! Now shut your mouth!"
He gives me one of those devious smiles. I know he's up to no good. And sure enough, he starts humming, as loud as he possibly can.
I realized that technically, he's obeying me. Humming is not talking. And he did, in fact, shut his mouth when I asked him to.
I kiss him and leave the room, grinding my teeth.
Thankfully he didn't wake up his brother, and eventually he put himself to sleep.
11 months ago