My Son - Like the Dead

Handsome (my son) had a good day yesterday. Once I was done with the grass, he decided to go outside and play with the kid across the street.  I stayed inside, keeping cool, but I kept an eye on him through the windows, and since some of the windows were open I could keep an ear out as well. He was running, yelling and playing for hours. Later on, once the sun got low and the heat started to drop we went for a bike ride that ended at the park. Off he went, running and playing again. I had to go fetch him in order to leave, and we got home with just enough time for him to have a shower before bed.

Did he want to go to bed?

No.

"Handsome, bedtime's 9:00. That's in 10 minutes. That means you get a story in 10 minutes. Okay?"

"But I'm not tired!"

"So you say now. I'm taking a quick shower and I'm giving you a story."

"9:30?"

"10 minutes!"

"But Dad!"

"10 minutes!"

Ten minutes later we were lying in my bed with a fan on us, and I had in my hands "M.Y.T.H. Inc. Link", a book by Robert Asprin. Handsome was being quietly huffy, making certain that I knew he was there under protest. He was lying on his side, his back to me.

"Storytime?"

Big sigh. "If you say so."

I started reading. About ten minutes into storytime, I realized that Handsome hadn't huffed, or complained, or even moved since I started reading.

"Handsome?"

Nothing.

"Are you awake?"

Nothing.

I shook my head as I put the book down. The voice that came out of my mouth was high and mocking.

"9:30 Dad! I'm not tired, Dad!"

I went to my computer and wrote my blog entry for the day, cruised the internet for a while, and eventually tried to go back to bed. When I got there, however, Handsome had thrashed and rolled himself about until he was sleeping the wrong way across the bed. His legs were tangled in the blanket, his arm trapped beneath the pillow. There was no way I could leave him like that and get in the bed myself. I knelt on the bed and worked one arm under the backs of his knees and the other under the back of his neck and head. I tried to shift him.
No dice.
Though Handsome is only 8 years old, he still weighs a little more than a hundred pounds, and what with me kneeling over him and his being tangled in the blankets, I couldn't get him up.  I did the next best thing. I 'waggled' him into place. I lifted and pushed his feet, jerkily, about a foot. Then I lifted and pulled his head, jerkily, about the same distance. I moved him this way, alternating head and feet, and it took about 6-8 good jerks. He flopped about like a doll, limbs flailing, head lolling. He never opened an eye or made a sound. In fact, he didn't even seem to be breathing...
"Handsome...?"
Nothing.
Holy $#%!  Is he...?
I was telling myself to just be calm even as I was thrusting my ear in front of his mouth to hopefully hear some slight sound of respiration. What I heard was the popping sound of lips held together by dried spittle, just as the exhalation pressure becomes too much and the seal lets go.
"P-ahhhhhhh..."
A blast of some of the nastiest, I-have-a-summer-cold-so-my-breath-smells-like-a-swamp-that-was-covered-with-dog-dirt-and-set-on-fire breath you ever even heard of hit me full in the face. I was on an inhale, and my mouth was open. I felt my nostrils close, and my gorge rose to about the level of my ears as I scrambled backward across the bed, almost falling off the other side.
"Oh! That's rank!"

Dad, I'm not tired.
Horse hockey! He was so tired that not only was he sleeping like the dead, he smelled that way too!
...and much like the "Breakfast Gone Horribly Wrong" story, he laughed hysterically when I told him about this in the morning.

Talk to you later!