Nights like these make life worth living a hundred times over. Jacob was home in time for a late supper and went to read a book to each child separately as he does on days when we've had few spare moments to give to each individually.
He never came back. I went looking for him after he had been upstairs for over an hour and found him stretched out full on Henry's bed, the tattered story of Rip Van Winkle (how ironic) opened face down on his chest, one arm around Henry, who was snoring in tandem with Jake's deep breathing, arms flung out in total trust, one across the pillow and one right across Jacob's face. I took just one moment to reflect on how alike they are in appearance, all eyelashes and blonde curls. Reluctantly I had to wake up Jacob, he moves so much when he sleeps I could see him landing on the floor, a sea of matchbox cars, hurting himself and waking Henry up.
I shook his shoulder and he opened his eyes so sleepily and I told him maybe he should go to bed.
Come with?
Not yet, Jake. It's only 8:30.
So? You have better plans?
Maybe. Peace, quiet, and writing?
Sure, but sex and cake and a warm bath would probably be nice.
Maybe I can have both?
Huh? Cake in the bathtub?
No, a half hour of writing and then bed?
Done, princess. I'll wait for you up here then. Wake me up if I goof off again.
Okay. Be up soon.
I don't have the heart to wake him up again. He was asleep before I wrote the end of one sentence because I snuck back upstairs to look.
