When Patrick and I were first married (i.e., long before Katelyn was even a twinkle in my eye), from time to time I would have trouble falling asleep. After restlessly kicking the covers about for few minutes, I'd give in.
"Tell me a story..." I'd say.
"One time when I was kid I got this huge water balloon launcher..." he'd say.
"NO!" I'd interrupt. "Tell me a boring story. One boring enough that I can fall asleep."
I could hear him smile in the dark.
"Well. Today, I had this lady who fell and broke her tibia..." And so he'd continue, step-by-step, listing the surgical procedure.
And then I would drift off to sleep with "Trochanteric..." and "Lateral approach" peppering my dreams.
Four kids and 7,000 interrupted night's sleep later, I'd all but forgotten those salad days.
Except tonight when, late in the evening, a little voice called, "Mom! I can't sleep."
After some useless negotiating, I went up to see my little Nicholas.
"Mom, how do people fall asleep?"
"I don't know, sometimes it seems so easy, doesn't it?"
We talked a little bit about how easy it is to fall asleep in...say...church. And how sometimes it's so hard to sleep in your dark bedroom late at night.
Patrick joined us shortly thereafter, and, from somewhere in my brain I remembered.
"Tell him a boring story."
"Well..today...I had this lady...," He began.
I left, but on my way out I swear I heard "trochanteric."
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