Sheridan, Wyoming

Charlie started yawning on the way home from the mall while Willie sang us a song about angels getting too close to the ground. We are both tired. Jill is out of town. She is in Wyoming. Her absence throws Charlie out of his rhythm. He woke up this morning at 4 am. I brought him into bed with me. After stacking pillows on the edge of the bed so Charlie would not roll off, I told him in a soft voice it was sleepy time. He laid his head on my pillow and was still. I began to drift off. Several minutes later. I was awakened by Charlie's dark face hovering above me whispering, "It's sleepy time."

He woke me at least six times just like that. I may have been dreaming of two of the occurances though.

I finally decided to get out bed at 730am, an hour and a half after Charlie began bringing books into the bed from the living room shelf. I was in and out during that time. I thought I heard the front door open once. That gave me alarm.

The chaos of getting him ready was somewhat controlled. He has been on edge because he hasn't passed a noteworthy stool in some days. At least I haven't been privy to one. I added a stool softener to the orange juice I served with his oatmeal which he prefers "just right", not too cold or too hot, with brown sugar, sans raisins. Daddy likes raisins. Charlie does not like raisins.

I told him a story before his nap because he was wanting Mommy.

His calls they were a homing

to his mother there in Sheridan,

in Sheridan, Wyoming.

She is somewhere, I said,

she is nowhere,

Where the bighorn sheep are roaming.

She is in a meeting in Sheridan,

in Sheridan, Wyoming.

Don't fret dear child,

Don't fear the churning sea,

the tempest gurgling and foaming,

'cause there's no water there in Sheridan,

in Sheridan, Wyoming.

It was enough to put him at ease.