There exists but one window in our home that peeks towards the southern sky, and so it is that our walk-in closet became the cozy venue that hosted the lunar eclipse gala. Thick fuzzy blankets spread on the cold laminate floor (yep, still waiting for that plush chocolate brown rug to finish off the new closet), I squished together with only 2 of my 3 handsome fellas as we lay in wait to each claim our view of the brilliant moon’s time in the spotlight… Or rather, out of the spotlight. A warm memory to be cherished.
With slumber party whispers, because, in the dark even your inside voice takes on a certain bullhorn quality, we observe the slow cloaking of the bright glowing orb which eventually leaves only one tiny portion lit giving the perception of an enormous eyeball engaged in a cosmic staring contest with the teensy shy star down to the right. With Mars keeping score, the orb ultimately grants victory to the little star as it darkens into an eerie red slumber.
Unfortunately, only 3 sets of heavy lidded eyes were to behold this sight. As thrilled as he was while being tucked in the evening before, those that truly know my baby will understand my futile attempts to wake him at 1 am for the rare event of the red moon. A soft coaxing voice, gentle nudges, kisses on the cheek…all met with sleepy, faint smiles and confirmation that he would love to come lay with us in our moonlit nest…that is, until this mean mama had to make it clear that this would require acting upon the absurd notion that he dislodge himself from his current cocoon.
Given that the boy can walk around tossing cookies in his sleep and is prone to being vexed at pulled pork while merely preparing a school lunch at 7am, this idea of waking the child at 1 am seems a rather kamikaze mission. But, in love for the sweet boy, I gear up and press on despite the angry groans and incomprehensible words, limbs flailing but then, just as quickly, retreating to grasp his crumbling cocoon. An offer to carry him to the viewing area was answered with more grunts of compounding dismay.
In my continuing perseverance, my brain pulls a book off it’s “currently reading” shelf and waves it frantically in comedic warning. A classic recommended by my 10 year-old, the bold black title pulses in my mind’s eye…”Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde”. I honestly don’t know how it ends yet, perhaps a partial factor in my retreat and decision to let this sleeping dog lie.
After a night of wonder, the morning dawns far too soon for the audience of three. My heart breaks just a bit when my little Jekyll wraps his arms around my waist and softly inquires why I didn’t wake him for the eclipse. A vision of the tiny rage-filled creature from a few hours ago threatening my mind’s capacity to believe this is the same child. Returning the embrace, I chuckle in sympathy…
“Oh, sweetheart… I tried”