“Mommie, the moon is stuck!’ in the backseat Wade pointed at the early evening moon rising in the east, visible though it wasn’t yet dark.
“The moon is stuck?” I tilted my head to the right and peered through the top of the windshield trying to decipher Wade’s apocalyptic remark. Was this The End? Was the sky falling?
A waxing moon, about half-full, hung in the sky. I chuckled as I realized what he meant. “Oh, honey! The moon isn’t stuck. Some nights you can see all of it. That’s called a full moon. Other nights, like tonight, you can only see part of it. This is a half-moon.”
Brushing aside my explanation Wade said, “Yeah, but Mommie, the moon is stuck. Mommie, fix the moon.”
“Wade, I can’t fix the moon,” I said laughing.
“Please, Mommie, please. Fix the moon.”
I would have if I could have for this precious three year-old boy. This boy who has so much faith in me he believes I can change the moon phases just by shooting the sky my Eat-All-Your-Peas look.
The day is coming soon when the jig is up. Wade will realize that I can’t fix the moon, that kissing his boo-boos doesn’t really make them better, that I don’t know how to solve for X.
For now, I’ll cherish this fleeting moment. I’ll let him go on thinking I’m the all-powerful, all-knowing Mommie.
We drove on, the westward setting sun now directly in front of us.
“Mommie, the sun is in my eyes.”
“Well, give me a minute, and I’ll fix it.” I turned the car to the right toward our destination. “Better now?”
“You moved the sun, Mommie? You moved the sun!”
“I did, Wade. Yes, I did.”
Sweet.