The tiny voice erupts inches from my ear, jolting me awake. I crack one eye open – 3:15. Sandman is playing tricks again. I get to choose between trudging the cherub back to her own bed and spending the rest of the night wedged between a snorer and a spinner.
Reluctantly, I slide over and doze off again for thirty whole minutes, until … “Mom?” It’s Christopher. The deafening crash of my blankets falling over his sister awakened her brother. He wants to cuddle, too. As soon as I feed him breakfast.
In today’s Gospel, I always thought the man who wouldn’t get up to get his friend a loaf to feed his unexpected company was unbelievably rude. What did he mean, “My children and I are sleeping…?”
Now I get it.