But we're drifting.
“Mama,” Zay says, softly, tenderly, “I forgot Mine-O-Mine.”
“Where is he, Zay?”
Even in my slumber-state, I remember seeing Mine-O-Mine, Zay’s red blanket, draped over a chair in the dining room. But the dining room is down the stairs. Through the living room. Across the house.
And I am tired.
“We’ll get him later. Now close your eyes.”
Zay is quiet. For a moment. Then he rolls over and whispers words.“Mama? Can we get him? Now?”
I'm about to tell him “no”. Lonny's been working late. Sport schedules have made me scattered. I'm mama-weary.
Then he presses palms to my cheeks.
“Please Mama. Mine O'Mine?” he says. “I love that guy.”
I am sold.
Oh, my dear boy. Still small enough to cradle, his spirit gentle and kind. I pull him close and breath the sweetness of his skin. Run my fingers through the angel hair that's soft silk. Then I kiss his forehead, settle him back to the sofa.
And stand to find the stairs.
The blanket, too.
When he's soft and gentle, tender and small, my heart puddles. There is something precious here. Something simple and sweet that God has allowed me to hold for a short while.
And I don't want to let go.
"Yes, Sweet Boy," I whisper. "I'll find the blanket."
My close-to-sleep child. Treasure of my heart.
I love that guy.
Thank you, Lord, for giving me joy in meeting the small, sweet needs of my sons.