113

The best times to talk to Jack -- when he's the most focused on talking -- is when he is in the tub or on the pot. And getting him to go potty can be a real pain in the arse. So tonight I found myself sitting on the edge of the tub in the boy's bathroom as I waited for him to take care of his business. The conversation went a bit like this:

"Why are you sitting on the side of the tub, Mama?"
"Why not? I am waiting for you to go stinky."
"I know, I know. I am working on it."
Silence.
"Mama, how do you get to heaven?"
"I am not sure. I think God comes and whispers in your ear to let you know it's time to go to the wonderful place called heaven and then he guides you there."
Silence.
"So do you think we get to fly there?"
"Probably."
"Wow. Fly. That will be great. How long do you think we get to fly? Do you think people can fly in heaven?"
"Jack, I am really not sure. All I know about heaven is that it's a great treat to get to go there and when you're there, you are happy."
"A treat? Like a cookie?"
"Um ... sure."
"Or a brownie?"
"Yes. Something that you like."
"I love brownies."
"Yeah?"
Silence.
"Wait, Mama ... what is a brownie again?"
"They are like chocolate cake only you don't put frosting on it and they are chewier."
"Right, right. That's what I thought."
Silence.
"I want to take brownies to school when I am the Razzle-Dazzle."
"That's a great idea."
(At this point I was feeling pretty great about the heaven talk. I felt like I had really been able to provide some key ideas that left him satisfied.)
"Mama? Mama? Mama?"
"Jack, I am right here. Are you almost done?"
"I am working on it. ... Mama, what does God look like?"
"I don't know."
"But how will we know when he comes to get us if we don't know what he looks like?"
"I think we'll know. I think we'll be able to tell."
"Yeah me too. I think God looks like and old man in a suit."
"In a suit, huh? What color is the suit?"
"Green and gold."
"Yeah? What kind of suit is that?"
"You know like the priests at church."
"Oh, so you think God looks like our priest?"
"Yes ... don't you?"
"Jack, I think that makes perfect sense to me."
He shakes his head in agreement.
Silence again. I run my fingers through my hair, clean my glasses in my shirt and wait.
"So, how much time do you think you have?"
"Time for what?"
"Time until God calls you to heaven."
"I have no idea Jack but when He does, I will be happy that I was chosen."
"Yeah me too. Except Daddy said I have a million years. So, I have some time."
"Yeah, a million years is a lot of time. That's great."
"Well, if I have a million that you must have a least half a million."
"Well, that wouldn't be too bad."
"Yeah, and besides, Mama. We will all end up in heaven anyway, right?"
"That's right, boo. Now flush."

112

The sleeping drama continues. Each night Jack comes up with more creative and ridiculous reasons to delay his bedtime. So we keep putting him to bed earlier ... 8:30, 8:15, 7:30 ... then even 7:15 p.m.

We don't know what else to do.

We've added nightlights, orange-colored string lights (one set with jack-o-lanterns). We've threatened Santa, school, TV, Nintendo ... nothing works. He may be the most stubborn, ridiculous person I have ever met. He doesn't want to go to bed and he doesn't care about anything else.

We've cut his nap. We've cut any and all shows that could maybe stimulate bad dreams ... because he does have bad dreams, just as I do. We have added a mini CD player with only kids songs and holiday tunes ... think happy thoughts.

All you parents-to-be ... under no circumstance should you bend on bedtime when the baby is young. You think now that you won't -- just like I thought Jack wouldn't have sugar until he was in kindergarten. But when it's 3 a.m. and the baby up yet again and you and your spouse are so, so tired, a cozy bed for three seems more than inviting. But really, it's not good for anyone.

Dear Jack ...

As you grow, let's talk more about all the questions your teeny 4-year-old mind struggles to wrap around. Maybe then you'll realize there just aren't answers to all your questions about God and heaven and our relatives who have passed. For now, just rest and enjoy your childhood. Have fun with your brother. Play with your trains and read books and draw pictures of Spider-Man.

Let's shelf this for now and when you are older we can talk about how you're not invincible and let's try to take each day as a gift. Try not to worry now, buddy.

Unfortunately you've inherited guilt and worry from both your parents. The Irish curse perhaps ... one of many. But as 'Stina said to me last night: Worrying is like a rocking chair. It's not going to get you anywhere.

So sleep. Please sleep. For God's sake sleep worry-free. I wish I help you find peace -- you are only 4.

And always remember I love you. Even when I am leaning over your bed begging you to close your eyes.

Mama

P.S. When you are older and you beg to just sleep; when you waste your days away catching up on your teen metabolism I am going to remind you of these days where you deprived your father and me rest. And I will describe to you in great detail how we fretted about your bad dreams, sleep walking and your lay-it-on thick guilt trips. No need to worry about that either.

111

The countdown has begun for Thanksgiving in Florida. Am I ready? Hells no. Not really sure when that is going to happen considering the husband heads into a very busy week, a weekend in PA and then we fly out. How did it get here already?

Tonight when I got home the nanny had put Brennan's hair in a ponytail. Think she wants us to get it cut? Could be a suddle hint, eh? It may acutally happen. But since he's likely my last baby there will be little cut off. I don't care what anyone else says ... my baby remember?