So it’s 4:30 AM and Brother rolls over to search for his sippy cup.  He finds it but oh, horror of horrors… “It’s enty, Mama. I nee more appa juice.” (Yes, I give my child juice at night.  I have other parenting flaws too.  Too many to recount here so let’s just move on, shall we?)  Knowing this time was coming I had prepared a second cup during one of the other umpteenth night awakenings.  Will’s hand fumbles around on the nightstand, finally grasps the backup, and hands it in Brother’s general direction all without opening an eyelid.

“NO!, NO! Mama get it!”

Fine.  Will hands the cup to me and I hand it in Brother’s general direction.

“No! Not dat one. Dis one.”

He shoves the empty cup toward me.

“It’s enty, Mama. I nee more.”

Yes, we’ve been through this.  There are nights when I would have engaged in a struggle to get him to take the perfectly good, perfectly full backup but this was not one of them.

“Okay.  I’ll be right back.”

I stumble to the kitchen where the ever helpful motion sensitive light greets me in a way that makes me want to throw something at it.  (Note to self: flourescent and early mornings don’t mix.)  Instead, I bang feverishly at the wall until I get lucky, hit the switch and am bathed in sweet blackness.  I grope my way to the fridge — “Agrhh, more light.”– grab the apple juice and let the door shut.  In the darkness, my well-practiced hands take off first the juice lid then the sippy one.  Then in one swift motion that would make a ninja jealous I pry open the fridge door with my toe, pour the juice, grab the lid and shove the container in replacing its top on the way.  Lightless once again, I reach for the sippy cup lid.  Knock it off the counter.  Turn to look. (Uh newsflash, Toni - Can’t see in the dark.) Kick it.  Kick it again.  Corner it behind the recycle bin.  Realize even if I do catch this thing it will have to be washed.  Think about the effects of cold water on the hands of an amazingly still half-asleep person.  Leave it.  I fish around in the cabinet through a mountain of lids until my fingers light upon the shape I’m seeking.  With the lid halfway on I realize a stopper may useful.  Take the lid off.  Poke around through the stopper stack; stopper in; lid on; down the hall we go.

Back in bed I am greeted only by silence.  All eyes are closed.  Everyone’s breaths are even and rhythmic in a lullaby sort of way.  I shake my head and sigh as I sit the new juice next to my sleeping son.   A minute later, after I’ve plumped my pillow and found the sweet spot once again a soft voice breaks the silence.

“Good job, Mama!  I so proud you.”

“Thank you,” I reply to the voice as it tucks the cup under an arm and returns to dreamland.

Thank you and good night.