The Prince and the Fan

Did ya' ever hear "The Princess and the Pea" fairytale? You know, where the princess can't sleep because there's a pea under her mattress? I am currently reminded of it because one son brought it home as a reading assignment last week. Now, to my fairytale.

Once upon a time, there was a somewhat tired lady. She had been at Bible study. At lunch with new friends (yeah! ... will post more on this later). At home playing laundry lady. Helping with 3rd grade homework that she has to really concentrate on. Driving to football practice. Driving home to retrieve forgotten football helmet. Driving back to football practice. Killing random ants that continue to invade her home in search of crumbs and cat food (cause there's none of that stuff around here). She had put a boy in the shower, washed her wrinkly old face, and gone to bed. Late into the night... around 2 am... there came a tap-tap-tapping on her arm. Is it a dream? No. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. As she JERKS awake, she sees the source of the tapping. It's her son. Standing by her side of the bed. Staring at her.
She asks, "What's wrong? Are you OK?"
He replies, "I can't go back to sleep." At this point, she wants to scream, "So you thought you'd wake up someone who is having no trouble sleeping!!" But, being the kind mother she is (in her own mind), she takes the boy back to his room.
She asks, "Do you have to go to the bathroom?" (Because now that she's awake, she does.)
She asks, "Did you have a bad dream?"
She asks, "Why are your PJ's off?" (Because now she realizes that the child is half-naked. Half.)
The boy crawls back into bed and asks if she will lie down with him until he falls asleep again. The now deliriously tired lady lies down with her son... NOT out of her great compassion; it's too far back to her own bed. Now, the very awake son begins to talk. And talk. And talk. About why he thinks he cannot fall asleep again. ("Because you are talking," she tells him.) The very awake son then begins to flop all around. Flop. Flop. Flop. After an hour (I looked), the son makes a declaration.
"I can't sleep because my fan isn't pointing on me."
The brain-dead mother gets up, points the fan on the boy, and drags back to the bed to find that the boy is asleep. In the time it took for her to get up and adjust the fan, he fell asleep.
The semi-conscious mother plods back to her own room, takes a detour to the potty, and finds that a small black cat has taken over her spot in the bed. The End.