Saturday, May 2, 2009

Much Ado About Nothing

I've never been much of a t.v. watcher. Thanks to catching the reading bug at an early age and parents who brought my sisters and myself up to appreciate the myriad of other things life has to offer that are far more interesting than a small box of moving pictures, watching television has never been high on my things-to-do-when-you-have-nothing-to-do-at-home list.

That said, there is the occasional t.v. series that I enjoy, and when I do find one I try and wait until the entire season is available on dvd, buy that and then watch it in as few (or many) installments as my free time allows. Gone are the days when my husband and I could devote entire weekends to marathon viewing of an entire series season, stopping only to eat. He can still do that if he so chooses of course, but I have a son to bathe, amuse and put to sleep.

Two nights ago, we bought the latest season of what has long been the only t.v. series I still follow. As soon as Little A fell asleep that night, my husband and I crept out into the living room to watch at least the two-hour first episode before going to sleep ourselves. Confident that our son would sleep at least three hours before his first possible night wake-up, I was surprised to hear the patter of feet down the hall fifteen minutes into the first episode.

Little A burst into the room as I stood up from the sofa, grabbed my hand and led me back into the dark bedroom. I noticed the front of his shirt was wet and thought he may have overfilled his nappy and perhaps wet the bed. He climbed onto the bed and sat right in the middle, where he usually sleeps between my husband and myself.

When I looked at my pillow I saw two wet spots and a large one on the duvet where Little A normally lay. Grabbing a towel to soak up what I still thought was pee, I then spotted the glass of water that normally stood on my bedside table on its side and empty on the bed. My little boy had woken up thirsty, seen that no one else was in the room and gotten the full water glass himself. He'd spilled some on my pillow but was careful enough to get the glass right to the middle of the bed before drinking some and then spilling the rest on himself and the duvet. Because no one was there to see it happen, he ran out to get me at once.

While my son may be mischievous, he always remains at the scene of the crime when he does something he knows is wrong. If he spills something or throws up, he immediately tries to clean it up with his hands and stays right where he is until someone sees him and comes to help. I hope he maintains this sense of honesty as he gets older. In the country we live in, it seems far more common for people (and politicians) to try and get away with committing figurative (and sometimes literal) murder than to admit their mistakes and try and fix them instead of pinning the blame on someone else.

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