I keep saying I'm going to start going to bed earlier. That I'll shut off the TV, the lights, and the computer before 11pm and catch my full eight hours before any of my children are tapping me on the shoulder asking about breakfast or Super Mario Bros.

That I will do what's right and proper in Mommyland and be an early to bed, early to rise, Proverbs 31 woman.

The truth is, when I do manage an early bed time I am usually just called back out by the needs of one of my children in the middle of the night. So tonight as I debated an 11pm cup of coffee or bedtime my oldest son made the decision for me when I heard him stumble out of bed making a sound that breaks a mother's heart. The all to familiar sound of closing bronchi and my sweet baby struggling for breath.

I couldn't help but think how much I hate this for him. Hate to see him hurting for something so basic as air to breathe. It seems so unfair. Only, to him, it's just how things are. It's just a part of his life to need breathing treatments in the night. I am so glad for him that it's only "as needed" and not a part of everyday. If it were, however, he would just do it. He doesn't know any different and he doesn't really know he's being short changed.

If anything it's a special time for him. Awake in the quite, getting his back scratched and drinking hot cider after his treatment. A little time just he and I. For him, it's special.

I could learn a lot from my boy.