Monday, April 4, 2011


I hear him. I know that I do. He's moving around in his bedroom as I am trying to come out of my sleepy haze. I check the clock--2am. Wow, he let me sleep a little longer tonight.

At this point in time, our son was not able to call out to either his Dad or me when he woke in the middle of the night. And, we couldn't even guarantee that if he needed to go to the bathroom, he'd be able to make it there in time. One of the two adults in the house needed to be awake with him. Husband has selective hearing tonight. Grrrrrr. I don't know what annoys me more: the fact that he can ignore our son in the middle of the night or the fact that I have not acquired that skill.

I am going to get up. I am going to get up. I am going to get up...soon.

Suddenly our son's door opens, and he is standing in the hallway. He beat me to it. I sure don't want him going downstairs, so I leap out of bed and meet him in the hallway. "Hey, buddy!" I say. "Do you need to go to the potty?"

The reminder helps him. We walk into the bathroom, and he takes care of business. Perhaps I'll be able to go back to sleep soon! I sure don't want to be awake for the day.

Our son turns to face me and says, "Gwa-wee."

What? That's a new one for me. As his primary caregiver, I thought I knew every word and approximation this kid had.

"I don't understand," I say.

"Gwa-wee," he says to me once more.

"But, I don't know what 'Gwa-wee' is. You are going to have to tell me more." I am losing my patience.

"Gwa-wee," he repeats.

Is it a toy? I pick up at least twenty only to have him push them away. I look under his bed and under his dresser. Nothing there look like a gwa-wee. What does a gwa-wee look like, anyway?

"Is gwa-wee downstairs?" I ask.

"Downstairs!" he says. Great! We are making progress! I ask him to come downstairs and help me locate the elusive gwa-wee. We look in the kitchen. We look in the family room. We look in the living and dining rooms--which, by the way, are NEVER used. No gwa-wee.

"Honey, PLEASE, tell me where you last saw gwa-wee!" I WANNA GO TO BED!!!! "Did you see gwa-wee upstairs in your room?"

"Upstairs!" he says. Ugh. Never mind the fact that he had just told me to come downstairs. So, we turn to go upstairs. Ankles must be touched on the insides of all doorframes on the way up. Walking can sometimes be a slow process.

Once in his room upstairs, we stand in the middle of his room. I look around at all the things we have previously searched. It has been an hour of searching. No stone was left unturned. I fall to my knees in surrender and said, "Buddy, I just don't know where gwa-wee is. I don't! I tried, but I can't find it! maybe we can find it in the morning?"

He stands next to me and touches my face. "Gwa-shee," he says this time.

"Gwa-shee?" I ask. Lightbulb!!! "Do you mean glasses? Are you asking me where are my glasses?"

"Glasses," he says.

Are you kidding? I've looked all over this house for some mystery item only to find that he wanted me to be wearing my glasses?! I didn't know if I were frustrated or happy to have the answer.

I put on my glasses and tucked him into bed. With the latest language barrier solved, all is right with the world.


  1. Classic! Love your writing Amy.

  2. Lol! He's never called them that since.

    Another favorite is "Fossey Fussey" which is what he calls the Children's Museum. Now, I REALLY have no idea how that one started, but it has stuck. It's cute now when he's 9. Don't know how cute it will be at 19, though.

  3. I think I love this story.....and I love "Fossey Fussey."