About five seconds before Patrick was due to leave this morning for science bowl practice he came into our bedroom.
"Mom," he whispered and I tensed, squeezing my eyes even shut-er. History tells us that a child about to walk out the door often remembers six dozen cupcakes needed for a previously forgotten bake sale and I was prepared to play dead if necessary.
"I got this for you at the ski chalet last night," Patrick continued and he pressed... something... into my hand. Then he was gone.
I squeezed the thing a little and shook it next to my ear and finally squinted at it by the light of clock, which is when I realized that I had been given a king-sized KitKat.
I felt just like that sick child on the top of the icy mountain must have felt after his visit from the little country bunny. You remember, when she used the golden shoes and stuck an egg onto his palm. It was, without question, the nicest thing anyone has ever given me before seven am. Ever. In my whole life. I was so touched that I almost managed to save some of it for him.