Last night, I squeezed into Harry's fire truck bed to read him a story. The room was hot because our house gets stuffy between 5 and 7 every night no matter what the temperature is outside. I didn't pull up his covers because his cheeks were already a little flushed, and he looked warm.
"Mama," he said. "Why didn't you put the rainbows on me?"
I looked at him blankly for a second. "The rainbows," I asked. "Oh! You mean your blankets?"
"Yes," he said quickly. "My blankets."
I obliged, pulling up his red blanket, his yellow quilt, and the blue fleece he's had since he was a baby. His rainbows. I love this, that he has a private word for his blankets, that his word is such an apt description, that he's never shared this word before, that it tumbled out in a moment of sleepy confusion, and especially that he wanted it back as soon as he said it, tucked back in his little head with a kaleidoscope of private observations whose existence I never contemplated.
He doesn't seem like the kind of guy who keeps anything to himself, but now I can't stop wondering how else he sees the world, what else he shares with no one.
When I left his room, I told him I hoped his rainbows kept him cozy.
"Mama," he said. "I think you should call them my blankets."
9 comments:
How sweet!!
I guess he was afraid you would spill his secret. That is so cute!
This is so lovely. So much of parenthood encapsulated in a single moment, I think.
I'm vklempt.
Sarah, that post just made my day. Truly lovely.
I really enjoyed this post -- what a sweat pea!
That's adorable. It's so funny how our little guys surprise us with gems like that.
Little teary over here.....
What a sweet little boy and what an wonderful mommy :)
That is the sweetest thing I have ever heard. Is it dusty in here? I think my eyes are watering...
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