My wife got up early with my 3 year old this morning. I laid in bed awhile longer in that semi-sleep state that I (sometimes) enjoy on weekend mornings. A short while later I feel movement on the mattress as my son hoists himself up onto the bed. My eyes stay closed and I lay motionless hoping for a few more minutes of peace. Just as quickly he’s back on the floor, heading out the door with the signature stride that comes from being barely past 3 feet tall. Pat pat pat. Quiet again. I soon roll over and my hand comes into contact with a foreign object. An object typically not found on the bed. I squint through one, half-opened eye. An empty paper towel tube has been deposited inches from my head.
The same plays out over several more trips. I am now aware of my new morning friend as he pulls the covers over himself and lies next to me with a book. He’s very quite to begin with. But as he finishes that book and goes to retrieve another – each one bigger than the previous – he begins the slow crescendo of talk and movement. Beginning with a whisper, he reads out loud to himself, words barely perceptible. Something to do with people being careful of the cars. I peek at him every so often. He’s content, flipping through pages and studying the details of all the pictures with the scrutiny of a crime scene detective.
His next round-trip deposits four (4) fuzzy buddies, seven (7) matchbox cars and book number four (4) that’s the size of an LP. How he carries all of this in his sticky little hands is a mystery. The sticky probably helps.
His next ploy involves touching my cheek with his tiny index finger. Tap tap tap. I slowly open my eyes to see a big, beaming face only inches from mine, who giggles at the fact he’s got my attention. Although still on my back, I’m now being shown pictures of engines and cabooses out of “The Big Train Book”.
“Look, here’s a purple one in the snow, Dad.” Hmm, that’s curious. There’s no ignoring the fact that I’m up and like a steam engine, he is gathering momentum. Jr. Geakz pulls one last tactic out of his bag of tricks to rouse a sleepy dad by transforming the aforementioned paper towel tube into a trumpet. With fingers pumping imaginary valves and lips buzzing notes that go up and down some undiscovered musical scale, he toots away what sounds like the theme to Ben Hur. The decibel level now has me sitting up, partly amazed at his creative fanfare, but mostly confounded at how he has managed to slowly and methodically bestir me from slumber and all in a way that doesn’t start my day with a headache. I’m ready for coffee. Let the day begin!
What’s your favorite way to wake up?
