Monday Morning Report

"How'd you sleep last night?" I asked my son this morning as we put on our shoes and overcoats for the short commute to his school. It was his first day back after Christmas break.

"Not good," he said. "I got up three times."

"I know, I heard you," I said, "I didn't sleep well either." I didn't tell him I've been agitated these days, though he most likely knows.

"First, I got up to use the bathroom. Then I got up to turn the hall light on. Then I got up and splashed cold water on my face. That usually helps me fall asleep, for some reason," he said.

Though he's thirteen, I know he sometimes still gets scared in the night. Both of my kids have always had some night frights. When they were younger they'd tip-toe into our bedroom and come really close, right up against my sleeping face, and wait for my dream brain to recognize their presence in the room. Sometimes my daughter would brush my closed eyelashes with her damp and pudgy finger, her idea of a gentle waking.

I get wistful when I see them creating their own ways to deal with things. A bracing splash of cold water on the face is my son's replacement therapy--and that's not a bad thing. As pragmatic and self-satisfied parents say of their adult kids, "They've flown the coop. That's a good thing. That's what they're supposed to do."

As we drove along Ford Parkway, my son asked if he could put on KDWB 101.3. We listened to the drive-time DJ talk about his raucous weekend. My son looked over and said, "I could tell you weren't sleeping well either last night. Every time I looked down the hallway, I could see your light was on. I would have come in but I didn't know if Dad had fallen asleep with the lights on so I didn't want to wake you."

I thought about our morning talk all the way to work: his growing up, his changing needs, how my caring turns into his caring. Isn't that the best legacy of all--to teach the love of self-care that also includes caring for those you love?