I Can Haz Star?

Upon waking from his nap, the Kaiser asks me to climb in bed with him. I oblige. An extra ten minutes of laying around is ten minutes I don’t have to spend playing with “Thomas the Tank Engine.”

We snuggle up together and look at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling.

“Mommy, I can reach the stars?”

I turned my head on the pillow to stare at my pint-sized motivational speaker.

“Of course you can reach them.” Ever realistic, I add, “Well, if daddy picks you up.”

We climb off the bed. The promise of a snack is more appealing than cuddling with an uninspiring momma.

He clasps his hands together as we near the stairs.

“Mommy, I haz a star.” He smiles.

“Oooooh, can I see it?” I squat next to him and reach toward his little chubby fingers.

“No. You can’t. I can sees it. It has ice cream in it. Red ice cream. With strawberries.”

I’m pretty sure he’s an alien. A very wise alien.


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