Bad Moon Rising

On my way upstairs tonight to fold the never-decreasing pile of clean laundry that has become my bedroom, I heard number-one son crying in his bed.
"What's wrong?" I asked, to no response except for more crying.
"Do you feel sick?"
"Does your stomach hurt?"
"Did you have a bad dream?"
"Does your throat hurt?"
"Are you hot?"
"Are you cold?"
"Are you thirsty?"
"Did you wake up and feel lonely?"
"Are you worried about daddy's dwindling pension?"
"Are you worried about the Red Sox?"
Wouldn't it just be easier if he would tell me what was wrong instead of leaving me to guess?
I never found out what the problem was since by the time I returned with an (unrequested) glass of water, he'd fallen back to sleep.
Ken made me go outside and check out the full moon tonight. It was as if he was Cher's romantic uncle from Moonstruck. Me, I'm usually in more of an Olympia Dukasis "your life's going down the toilet!" vein and if you don't believe me, just read the last post. Somehow, though, the full moon makes it easier to get up in the middle of the night when, inevitably, someone is crying. It's just a little less lonely with all that light coming through the bathroom window.
See, I told you my life's going down the toilet.

song: Bad Moon Rising • artist: Creedence Clearwater Revival