Our son is deep in sleep under the covers of our bed.
Which happened at 5:15 this morning after his fourth trip to our room. And after my legs would not get up a fourth time to stumble back to his.
“It was a mouse,” he said the first time. “Crawling across my bed.”
At which time I’d leapt from my own bed, punched his light on and scoured his room for a twitching whisker.
“I don’t see anything,” I’d said. And I’d left after tucking my wide-awake son back in.
The second tap on my shoulder bore similar news. “I think I saw his shadow by my night light.”
“The mouse?” I asked.
So after my husband flipped switches, tossed blankets and announced, “I don’t think there’s a mouse in here,” it occurred to me that maybe our son was seeing things I’d promised would be there if he didn’t clean the cereal crumbs off his carpet.
And last check this morning…
Those crumbs are still there.