“Mom, help!  Boom, Boom!  Thunderstorms!”

Thus I awakened this morning at 2 a.m., barely 20 minutes after soothing Little Bear back to sleep after his midnight awakening, changing, and feeding.  Widget had crawled into my bed, and he was clutching my arm and sobbing.  As I reached out to hold him, to comfort him, and to stroke his hair, I was reminded what a precious gift these children are.  They come into the world so very small (6 pounds, 8 ounces!), and then, through the sheer nourishment that we provide their bodies(hello, breastmilk! (goodbye, br**sts)) and their minds, they grow.  They grow into crawlers, walkers, toddlers, and beyond.  They grow into sentinent little beings that ask questions and put things together and say the cutest things.   They flourish.

They grow into little boys like Widget, who asked me this morning why a picture of a boy was on the back of the box of cereal we were nibbling.  He was a spelling bee champion, so I reminded Widget how letters make words and words make stories, and this boy is very good at putting letters together to make words.  I said that the little boy is very smart.  So they put him on the cereal box.  Widget thought for a minute, said, “Mom on box!” and snuggled into my arms for a good cuddle.  I thought my heart would break, it swelled so full of love for him!

Finally, all the work and practice and concern over his talking (or not talking) has paid off, as he has become a little boy who can not only repeat words, but make up stories, put together facts, and draw conclusions (or make up new stories).  What an incredible moment.

We were well on our way to a good (if crabby — Widget is always crabby and clingy when it rains; the weather affects him so) morning when I got a call that I’d been dreading.  My neighbor died. It was expected, as he’d been diagnosed with cancer last Fall, but I just can’t wrap my arms around it.  I’ve written before about how tragic I feel it is, even though he isn’t young, and he’s lived the life that he chose, but it just feels so … final … now.  I just sat there, in stunned silence, after his son told me the news.  I offered to help in any way, to comfort his wife widow as we could, but it all just felt so … empty.

So I hugged my boys and put the baby down for his morning nap.  And Widget?  He was still crabby from the rain and I was fragile from the news, so I thought about how to encourage some quiet time and maybe even some relaxation.  I popped in the new Andre Rieu DVD that we bought after we found that Widget loved watching musicians play classical music, and he was, once again, transfixed.  As the Aviator’s March resounded and then the Brazilian singer poured forth with the Song of Vilja, Widget relaxed, the baby closed his eyes, and they both fell softly asleep. 

That’s right.  They both napped at the same time. 

After a dark and stormy night of thunderstorms, crying babies, and terrible news, there was peace once again in our house.

This post was submitted to the Carnival of Family Life #52.  Stop by to read many other great posts, and consider participating in their special Mother’s Day edition next week!


6 Responses to Lullabies

  1. canape says:

    Oh I’m sorry to hear that. The nap sounds divine though. Hope the rest of the day stays peaceful.

  2. Gerbil says:

    I’m sorry to hear about your neighbor. Saying goodbye never gets any easier, I think.

    I’m smiling about the classical music because my two older kids would not sleep unless we had classical music playing. And Jacob is getting his fair share now…

  3. kailani says:

    That is so sad but it sounds like he lived a full life.

    It really makes you take a step back and appreciate your own family.

    Thank you for sharing this with the Carnival of Family Life.

  4. […] A very heartwarming family story by WhyMommy about how fast kids grow up. Stop by Toddler Planet to read Lullabies. […]

  5. Romie says:

    How sad and beautiful. Thanks for sharing and may you have many more lovely and relaxing times with your kids. Came here from the Carnival of Life.

  6. […] safe came from.  I think it’s because that’s how I comfort Widget in the dark of night when the thunderstorms roar.  He is terrified of thunderstorms, and he needs company and comfort if it’s stormy […]

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