by Christie Perkins

It’s the same ritual every night. My internal clock alarms me it’s time for bed- but straight to bed is not the route I want.

Not yet.

I take a detour to the boys’ room and flip on the hall light. I’m not worried about waking them up because once they are asleep nothing disrupts their wonderland. Really, I turn the light on because there’s no use blowing kisses into a dark room, my aim may be off and the kiss would be wasted.

Angel faces are still; restful. Not mischievous, playful, angry, or loving. Eyes hide behind eyelashes that could crawl away but are now sedated in their dream world. All of my boys (thankfully) inherited their Dad’s eyelashes not mine. Though hidden, I still see those clear blue eyes. All except Mr. Chameleon eyes whose eyes change with shirt color: blue shirt, blue eyes; green shirt, green eyes.

These eyes that twinkle and sprinkle me with love and laughter. And, let’s be honest, sometimes frustration. But, still.

I stand in the hallway, check for the steady raising of the bed sheets: gentle, like the waves coming in from outer sea. I’m watchful for a slight shifting. I look for any indicator that I still get to keep them for one more day. Good, they’re still breathing.

It’s a habit from birth, this checking to see that they are okay. The whole day flashes back at me and I question: Did I do enough for them today? Did I spend enough time with them? Did I make them smile today? I do a quick evaluation and come up with the exact same conclusion: No, tomorrow I will do better. Time is never enough and I want to be wrapped up inside this little person before me. I want to be his source of strength, love, fun, and happiness. Tomorrow will be better than today. It’s an ongoing goal I never tire of. Yes, another day will bring another chance.

My body nags at me to go to bed. I want sleep. So, every night after evaluation I kiss my fingertips, and with a breath I hand off my kiss making sure it lands right, then smile slightly at their angelic state and turn to walk away.

Then, on cue, a voice comes to my head: don’t blow a kiss give them a real one because one day they won’t be in the house to give real kisses to. It’s true. I can blow kisses into a phone, write it on a letter, or send an electronic kiss but it won’t be the same. I take the extra couple of steps and find a piece of exposed arm or face and gently touch their skin with a tiny kiss.

I crawl into bed exhausted and completely satisfied with kissing my angel boys good night. What an incredible gift they are to me.

Don’t ever stop giving those good night kisses. The brief pondering opens up my heart. And the kiss becomes a token of conviction to be a little better tomorrow.

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