Thirst & Comfort.

  Last night I could not sleep. I was perfectly happy though, to lay in bed, time to myself and watch 30 Rock (It might have been the happy medicine coma that I was in, I got a new prescription that works last night). Finally around 1:00 AM, I could hear shuffling of feet. Josiah walked in and assuming I was asleep, began searching my nightstand (or "sleeping desk" as he once called it) for a glass of water. I knew what he was looking for and I finally piped up after watching my very sleepy, very cute little man search in vain.  I told him to climb in next to Daddy and I'd get him some water. While I was in the kitchen getting him a bit of water, I was hit with the vivid memory of going into my own parent's room and searching for water on my Mom's nightstand. I recall thinking that I was so stealth-like and tip-toeing in there only to have my Mom's seemingly asleep arm shoot out from bed, grab the glass and hand it to me. Now that I have my own children, I am aware that there is a law of physics that makes it impossible for small people to be quiet. This would hold especially true in the home I grew up in. The floors creaked like a haunted house.
 While I was filling up Josiah's cup, I was filled myself with a great sense of nostalgia. Such a comforting thing to creak across a floor, past siblings still asleep and be "nourished" even while my Mom wasn't awake. I can still feel the mason jar's raised bevels along the neck while I took a drink. It was a countless number of times, but to me it's one solid memory, one big comfort in my childhood.
I wonder if Josiah will have the same? If someday the feeling of tile under bare-feet and a plastic cup (no glasses for us on this tile floor in precarious places!) will remind him of a nighttime solace years earlier?

I hope so.