As Rowan went to bed this evening, I stood by his door, saying final goodnights. More than anything else that is part of bedtime routines, he is most attached to me closing the door for the night. Even when we occasionally go to bed with a strain or tension between us, he will express to me that when I close the door, he feels safe and calm. So. Safe and calm it is.
Tonight he was feeling particular silly, and was getting into his bed, blanket flying around, all tangled and flappy. I stood patiently (on the outside, but it was waning on the inside) in his doorway, waiting for him to get settled. I didn’t want it to drag for too long, but I didn’t want to cut the fun just because I was kind of over it.
Finally, I said something along the lines of “Ok, you got it?” And he responded with something new.
“I’m still funkiful, but I’ll be ok.”
Funkiful.
Being the adult in the room, I heard that as the technical term for “full of funk,” which to me 🤷♀️ would mean gassy.
This whole thing grew into a somewhat lengthy conversation where I encouraged him to fart in his own space, because what better place is there, really, for sure a funkiful boy to expel that funk?!
Yes. I am tired.
But I got to make a stupid joke, and he got to laugh like a fool at it while laying still in his bed without realizing it. And he got to feel calm and safe when I closed the door 💜
Everybody wins.