4:23 a.m.

A bright light wakes me up in the middle of the night.  It is the hall light outside our bedroom door.  My watch says 4:23.  My husband sleeps.

I get out of bed to investigate, and almost all of the lights in the house are on.  Did I miss something here?  I stick my head in Will and Jack’s room, and there is Jack, rummaging through the dirty clothes hamper.  Will, in the top bunk, snoozes on, oblivious.

“What are you doing, Jack?” 

“I’m looking for some pants; I can’t find any clean ones in my drawer.”

I realize that he is getting ready for school.  I say, “Do you know what time it is?”

He looks at his watch and then looks up at me.  “I thought you just came in here to tell us it was time to get up!  You said it was 6:45!”

I shake my head.  “No buddy, it must have been a dream; it’s too early to be up.  Let’s get your pajamas back on.”

He complies.  I go turn all the lights off and come back to check on him.  The faint glow of a flashlight shines through the blanket he has pulled over his head.  I pull back the blanket, and he wails, “I will never be able to get back to sleep now!”  I understand; I feel the same way.  I tell him to turn the flashlight off.

I climb into his little bunk bed with him and put my arm around him until he is almost asleep.  Then I whisper, “Good night, Jack,” and go to bed.  I don’t mind waking up for this.


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