One night last week, Sophia slept in our bed. Actually, it was somewhere between one and a million nights last week, I'm not sure. And "slept" should be in quotes there, implying the truth, which is that she slept, all sleep-splayed and satisfied, snorting snot-sloppy noises. Clay and I grimly clung to our respective edges of the mattress, feeling the roll edge pressing into our sides, catching brief moments of sleep, where we dreamed about being pushed off a cliff. Like that.
Anyhow, after one blissful night of "sleep," Sophia woke up about 6 AM. Clay was already up, getting ready for work. Sophia sat up and started frisking the pillows on his side of the bed, searching for him.
"He's in the kitchen, baby. Don't worry, he'll come in to say goodbye before he leaves."
Satisfied, she flopped back down and looked around. She spied the light above the bed and pointed at it.
"Yep, your daddy fixed that, didn't he?" A month or so ago, Sophia had climbed on our bed and grabbed the pull chain on the light, and gone all monkey on it. She'd broken the light, and left the globe dangling. It stayed like that for a few weeks before Clay had a day off and could climb up into the attic to fix it. He'd rewired it, too, so now it's turned on with a switch, removing the temptation of the pull cord for all monkeys concerned. This whole process was rather amazing to Sophia, and we talk about it a lot. Now she lolled there next to me, admiring the light and mulling it all over.
"Yep, your daddy fixed that light."
"Wha? Moon? No, that's not the moon, baby. That's a light. The moon is outside." She swivelled to look outside. All that could be seen was a morning gray sky, the gray of a weathered wooden trellis, and gray winter honeysuckle vines. Moon outside? As if. She pointed insistantly at the light again.
"Mmmmoooon! Daddy fissss mooooon!"
"I see. Let's go see your daddy, shall we?" She brightened considerably at that and flung both arms at me. I wrapped an arm around her and we rolled out of bed. Clay was standing at the stove, making his breakfast, and turned around when he heard me padding out of the bedroom. I told him about the conversation Sophia and I had just had.
"So basically what I'm telling you is that your daughter believes that you LITERALLY hung the moon. In our room."
And it's true, she does. She sat on my hip and beamed at him. And the way he grinned at her, I suspect the feeling is fairly mutual.