The Nap

Today I had the honor of holding my grandson while he slept. For all I say it is possible for him to nap without being held, I must admit that the joy of holding him far exceeds my need for his independence at the ripe old age of two.

I get to watch him whenever his mommy and daddy's work schedules overlap. Today was one of those days. We ate banana nut muffins and drank juice while playing at his little table. Then we went upstairs to his house and played with his superman dolls until he went and lay down on the couch saying, "Read me the black and white book, Gramma."

I didn't make him say please, I simply found the book, which turned out to be a library book about opposites, and we began to read. It was a pretty hands on book, requiring much page turning and many flaps to lift, but by the time we got to the book about the little prince who wouldn't sleep, Lennon reached up and said, "Hold me." As much as we try to discourage this little prince from issuing orders like the young tyrant he would like to be, nap time is not the best place for debate.

For two hours I held him and marveled over those golden eyelashes and that sweet little heart shaped mouth, producing the most raucous snores you can imagine. Then, long after my arm fell asleep, he began to toss his tangled curls around and scratch his arm. (He has my curls and itchy skin!)

Imagine a sixty five year old man, sleeping soundly in his bed, dreaming of being rocked in the arms of his gramma.