When I Grow Up

Boy wants to be a bat when he grows up. He and Husband had an exchange that went something like the following:

Boy: What do you want to be when you grow up?

Husband (who legitimately has no idea what he wants to be when he grows up): A pilot so I can fly.

Boy: I want to be a bat so I can fly.

Well. Can't argue with that. Actually I suppose we could and maybe even should, but neither of us wants to be the one to tell him that he can't shift into a different species.

He made me whip up a bat costume, which consisted of one poorly cut piece of black suit lining, a t-shirt, and precisely three safety pins. He had me tell him a story of a boy turning into a bat, which thanks to my lack of literary skills was essentially Kafka, because why re-invent the wheel? At least Boy's Metamorphosis had a significantly happier ending.

When he woke up at O-dark-thirty* 5:30 the other morning, as he's known to do, I heard his trademark elephant stomping down his stairwell and then...nothing. Not the elephant stomping up our stairwell. Not a loud fake cry to announce his presence. Not a loud real cry to announce his presence. A good mom would wake up and check it out, but I was tired.

Eventually Girl woke up and did her trademark morning routine of sticking her face in mine and yelling various parts of speech that are best understood as commands: "Hungry! Thirsty! Milk! Up! Playroom! Dora! Mommy up!"As I carried her out of our room, I saw a little Boy shaped lump sitting quietly on a dark stair.

"What are you doing, Boy? Want to watch cartoons?"**

"I'm not Boy. I'm a bat. I'm hanging upside down on the ceiling now."

I wish we all were so committed to our dreams.

*It's November in Estonia. This phrase no longer effectively captures the time, as it is as applicable to 8:30 as it is to 5:30.

**Don't judge me. My kids wake up early.