Mr. Green Beans

At my dinner table this week ...

I roasted a chicken. I made macaroni and cheese, the homemade kind, from a friend's recipe. I steamed green beans. I washed some grapes and sliced up a bunch of Italian bread. I put it all on the table.

My kids passed the chicken. They passed the macaroni and cheese. They passed the grapes and the bread. They passed the green beans.

Veggie Girl filled her plate up with green beans, because they are green and they are yummy and she truly loves her vegetables. Except for zucchini.

My Aspie took six beans. Yes, six. He counted them. He ate them. And then he asked for more protein, please.

My redhead took three. Reluctantly.

I told him he couldn't have more mac and cheese until he ate a green bean. So he ate one. All of it. Without ketchup. And then he ate another. And then the third.

And then he reached for the serving bowl and finished every single green bean left on the table.

He told my amazing, veggie-eating au pair that he is now big and strong and smart because he eats green beans. And last night he asked - yes, he asked - if we couldn't please have green beans for dinner.

Hang onto your hats, folks. There's a newly minted veggie lover in the house!

Small Miracles

Apparently, the Earth's orbit has shifted. The planets aligned. Hell froze over.

My redhead slept through the night. Again.

This is huge. HUGE. Because it's never ever happened before.

And even better, he wants it to happen again. Seriously. He said so himself. I was putting him to bed, and he said, "Mom, you can sleep with me one more time, and then I'm going to do it by myself so you can get me a Build-A-Bear."

That "sleeping with me" stuff means two things. It means at night, when he's falling asleep, because he likes to have me nearby. Not always right next to him, but always nearby. And given the turmoil of the divorce, I haven't pushed it. I've stayed. Because divorced kids need to know they are loved, they are safe, and their grown-ups will be there. No matter what.

And the other thing it means is his 4 a.m. wanderings into my room, when I'm so totally zonked out nothing short of a screaming smoke detector could wake me. He climbs into my bed, glues himself to my side, and sleeps the rest of his night.

Now he's going to do it by himself. Falling asleep. Staying asleep. All on his own.

And all it's going to cost me is a Build-A-Bear.

I'm in. I am so in. Because, after nearly five years of non-stop sleep deprivation, I'd give anything. Anything. A year's supply of M&Ms, every Lego kit ever made, a ride on the space shuttle.

Thirty days of solid sleep, and that kid is going shopping.

I'm lucky all he wants is a bear.

Sleeping Through

Last night, my closing-on-five-year-old slept through the night for the first time in his whole entire life.

I wish I were kidding about that. But I'm not. As a newborn, this kid was ginormous and growing faster than anyone should at that age. He simply could not get through the night without nursing. Then he got older, and apparently he stayed hungry. Or thirsty. Or he had night terrors. Or the wind blew. And he woke up. He woke up, and he came looking for me.

This puzzles me. I've raised two kids who have been champion sleepers practically since birth. In their own beds and everything.

Not this guy.
 
Eventually, after a year or two of disrupted sleep, I simply gave up. I stopped sleeping and started waiting for him to come find me. See, if he caught me sleeping, I'd wind up with an overnight companion who believes that sleep happens best when he is glued to my side and holding firmly to my belly button. And that's just weird. So I stayed awake in order to put him back in his own bed and keep him out of mine.

Now he waits me out. He's figured out that I get so little sleep I'll eventually crash like a meteorite, and if he waits until 4 or 5 a.m., he'll win. Thanks to the sleeplessness that is single motherhood, he wins every single night.

Only last night, he didn't. Last night, he slept. In his own bed. All night long.

That's because last night, I wasn't at home. Last night, a really truly wonderful and amazing friend stayed at my house with my kids. My redhead knew I wouldn't be there when he came looking for me. So he didn't come.

Tonight I asked him why. I was tucking him in, and I said, "Hey, I'm really proud of you for staying in your bed all night last night. I'll bet you can do that again tonight."

"No. I can't."

"Why not?"

Which is when he looks up at me with these great, big, lost puppy dog eyes and says, "Because I love you, mom."

Well, crap. I couldn't argue with that one if I tried.