Answering Jack’s Big Questions
We moved into a new house. Our neighborhood is just that. A neighborhood. The kind where people come over to introduce themselves and shake your hand and bring you food.
The boys are adjusting, but things like sleep schedules are fond, warm memories. Sometimes we have to give them a little extra attention at bedtime to settle them in. Or we have to wake them up so they don’t stay passed out until noon.
Jack asked me to climb up into bed with him the other morning. It was a school day and he close to sleeping through it. I did as he asked.
He curled up a little, sleep lines from his pillow on his face. He opened his eyes after a minute and looked at me. We lay there, not talking.
"What do you want to know, my son?"
“Dada?” It was the tone of a young boy about to ask one of life’s great questions and I thought how this could be one of those stories I tell him as I’m dropping him off at college. The morning we laid in bed and talked about God.
“Yes, Jack.”
“Who brought me those brownies?”
And that, my friends, is parenthood.