Surprises

"It's a surprise for Mommy; don't tell her about it!" Abigail speaks in urgent whisper-shouts as she and Amelia race up the stairs. I walk up a minute behind them to help Garrett finish getting the three munchkins ready for bed. As soon as I reach the upstairs landing I see a ziploc bag thrust in my face accompanied by three gleeful voices exclaiming "Look! It's ants! Ants mommy! Look what daddy found!" Surprise! Sure enough there is a bag with the crust of a PB and J covered with ants scrambling about in a bag, trying desperately to figure out what to do with this enormous treasure of carbs.

I used to love surprises.

It seems like surprises are a big thing at this stage. Surprises and whispers. Abigail loves to whisper things in my ear. The dramatic effect is too much to resist, even if the message is something mundane like "I put my water cup on the counter, mommy." It's adorable, so I smile and nod and whisper back "Good girl Abigail. Thank you." Amelia also offers whispers with delight, and will often "surprise" me with hugs and kisses. Now those surprises I like!

I'm intrigued though, at the mystery the whole concept of a surprise must hold for a little kid. What is it about the idea of an unexpected gift or an unknown revealed that captures their imaginations so? The other night Abigail arrived at my bedside in the middle of the night (which has become an unfortunate everyday not-surprise in the past weeks). I hear her tell-tale sniffles and whimpers and roll over in bed.

"What's the matter baby? Why are you up?"

"I want to show you something."

"Honey, it's the middle of the night. You can show my something tomorrow. Go to bed."

"But I need you to come. I have a surprise for you."

Ugh. Seriously? This was the first time she's played that card during an off-hour rendezvous and I was amused, though only slightly.

"You have a surprise? Honey, no, now's not the time for surprises. Go to bed."

"But I need you. It's a surprise," with growing urgency.

So my resolve, which sometimes serves me well and other times abandons me completely anywhere between 1:00 and 5:00 in the morning, failed me this time.

"All right Abby, come on."

We walk down the hallway to her room, hand in sleepy hand, and push open her door to pitch black. The nightlight that we usually keep on is off. And I suppose when you're four years old and you wake up in the night and the light you're accustomed to seeing is missing, that, too, is an unwelcome surprise.

"Is that the surprise Abigail? Your light isn't on?"

"Uh huh."

With a weary finger I flip the switch to on and Abigail dutifully climbs back in bed and rests her head on the pillow. I walk back to my room to sink into my own mattress and as I drift off, I again try to see the humor in the situation. Who knows? Maybe Abby will keep it up and let me sleep through the night tonight. You never know what to expect with surprises.