Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
The two of us chase after him to ensure he ends up in his bedroom as opposed to his playroom – or more likely the kitchen where fresh baked cookies are taunting him – making sure to keep our arms stretched out in front of us to paint the illusion we’re flying or gliding like the Dark Knight himself.
Randomly, Wy stops to fight invisible villains, shouting out words similar to that of a classic cartoon, and insists we join him in their demise. In spite of being out of breath and uncomfortable by the object hanging around our necks, Bryn and I both fully immerse ourselves in his adventure.
Get lost in what feels comfortable yet discomforting.
Relish in creating a new memory that had roots to old ones.
It takes much longer than originally planned to reach his room but considering how out of breath he is when he finally crashes onto his mattress, it appears to be worth it.
Perhaps this was part of her plan.
Perhaps she recalls the easiest way to get our son to sleep is to guarantee he has no energy to stay awake.
“Time to hang up your cape, Little Hero, put on some jammies, and read one book for bed.”
Wyland taps his chin in contemplation. “Four.”
“That escalated quickly,” Bryn snickers during the unlatching of her leather item.
“One.”
“Leven.”
“One.”
Wy releases an exasperated sigh heavy enough to shake his Batman sheets covered full size bed. “I pit da one?”
“Deal.”
“Deal!” He eagerly nods his head before gingerly removing his cape. “Tareful, Dad. It mos’ speshial.”
“Most special, huh?” His mother promptly echoes, curiosity keeping her close. “Why? Did you get it directly from the real Batman himself?”
“We gave it to him for his birthday this year,” I explain in tandem with collecting all our superhero clothing to relocate to the top of his black dresser on the opposite side of the room. “It’s the closest one he has to an authentic cape.”
“Bes birfday ebbbbbbber!” Wy joyfully states.
For him?
Yes.
For his tiny classmates that don’t seem to appreciate the aquarium nearly as much as him and his mother?
Can’t say the same.
“Which book do we wanna read tonight?” I carefully drape the items on top of the furniture near a family picture from the aforementioned birthday and open the drawer that contains his pajamas. “Oh, David!?”
“Mmm…no…”
“No, David!?”
“Mmm…no.”
After grabbing his Daddy Shark, Mommy Shark, and Me pajamas, I turn on my heels and suggest, “David Smells!?”
“Who the hell is this David kid, and why are there so many books about him?!”
Bryn’s outburst receives a chortle prior to an explanation, “It’s Wyland’s favorite set of non-ocean, non-superhero, non-Star Trek books.”
“I appreciate you being specific.”
“They’re about an adorable little boy who has a tendency to cause trouble or end up in trouble by just…being…a kid…” I cross over to where Wy is already starting to dose off. “They’re more or less Wy in book form.”
“His autobiography.”
“Exactly.”
We exchange small laughter that seems to inspire another idea to come to mind. “Why don’t we read One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish?” He leans forward at the same time I dangle his shirt for the taking. “Mom loves that one.”
There’s a small, notable crack in her voice. “I do.”
“Me too!” Wy agrees while independently wiggling the article on. “Me too!”
“Sounds like we have a winner.”
Our son yawns, nods, and stuffs himself into his shorts next. As soon as he’s finished, he crawls across his mattress, snuggles under his sheets, and crams his stuffed Hammerhead shark, protectively underneath his armpit.
Bryn eyeballs the creature in his small arms, eyebrows pulling together in what could very well be another flash of a memory.
It’s the first stuffed animal she ever gave him.
It was the first one in his crib.
The first one in this bed.
The only one he brings to preschool, and the one we can’t leave for vacation without.
And even more importantly, it was the first one I ever bought her.
Instead of talking to him about it – or even asking me about it – she lets her fingers fidget with her airplane necklace and gaze wander elsewhere.
Knowing now isn’t the right moment to confront her about what she’s perhaps ignoring, I simply cross the room to the wooden shelves that are overflowing with books.
After finding the beloved hardback, the three of us crowd together at the head of Wy’s bed – per his request – to begin reading. Our usual routine of engaging him as much as possible effortlessly begins, and I do my best to focus on relishing in the familiarity.
How she asks him what certain shapes and colors are.
What fish does he recognize.
The way she tosses the educational leading over to me to ensure I am invested as well.
Present.
By the end of the story, Wy’s eyes are barely open at all, his small face is pressed firmly against Sammy, the shark, and his mouth is slightly cracked open as though he wasn’t ready to abandon talking yet had no choice.