“Not yet, honey, where did you put it?” wondering when he might have written a note; it was first thing in the morning.
“Right, here. I wrote it on a Pokemon card…with a pencil. “
I glanced over at his side of the room, which was strewn with an array of Pokemon cards (with a few Duel Master and probably Yu Gi Oh! mixed in ) as well as Nerf gun bullets.
I looked up at him blankly. “Well, what did you write?”
He selected a card out of what seemed to me to be a morass, but apparently he had some sort of strategic arrangement going on; there was order to his chaos.
He apologized in advance for not writing please. “There wasn’t enough room.”
“When did you write it?”
“Last night, when I heard you in the bathroom. I wanted a drink of water.”
“Well, honey, why didn’t you just ask me? I was right around the corner.” Fuming and stomping because I had noticed the dog pee on the floor after I traipsed through it (fortunately with flip flops on). The only reason I was up was because the dog let me know he wanted to go out after he peed on the floor.
I looked at the note, squinted, and thought about how I wished I made coffee before waking up my offspring. “get me water.” “to mom,” was added as an afterthought along the side. I guess he had to get realistic: who else besides Mom would cater to such a whim?
But, what I don’t get is, if this child could get up, find a pencil, write a note, and place it somewhere strategic so I’d find it (which in all honestly was unlikely, even if I had done anything more than a visual scan to ensure everyone was still tucked in, since I don’t normally turn on lights when I’m strolling through the house at midnight; if I had, I would have seen the dog pee in the bathroom before I stepped in it), why can’t he get his own cup of water?
What I said was, “Oh, honey…uhmmm, now that you’re up, do you think you can get your own drink?”