Sunday Poetry X -- The Moon and the Son

EXCERPT FROM LEWIS CARROLL'S "THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER" AND NEW APPLICATION:

The sun was shining on the sea,

Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright--
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.

The moon was shining sulkily,

Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done--
"It's very rude of him," she said,
"To come and spoil the fun!"

APPLICATION:

My son is a night owl.  My daughter is an early bird.  Amazingly, each is happiest (and such childish happiness is spectacular and supremely free and, well, very Wild Things) when the other is asleep.  I've thought a lot about this previously unanticipated cruelty (it's been going on for a while now and heedlessly continues despite all efforts to align all familial routines) and the sheer smiling pleasure it brings to each: perhaps their shifted schedules are adaptations for survival much like eye spots, webbed feet, and pouches are for various other creatures.

So back to the poem.  I'm going to make a connection, but CAREFUL!  Don't go jumping ahead of me!

Go back into the poem and, right along with a correlative change of gender, switch "sun" out for "son," and of course the natural response is to assume that "moon," then, should swap out for "daughter," but this would be inaccurate. If such were the case, the moon-- "daughter" --would not be shining sulkily, but chasing after the sun-- "son" --and screaming and maybe brandishing a stuffed animal or doll or--heaven forbid--her little white stool like a sword or gun or, depending, a bazooka, while the sun-- yes, you know --would be "whooshing" around like Spiderman or Ironman or Superman and be soon to take defensive stance against the newest baddy in the Marvel arsenal.  The moon cannot be my little girl.  Besides, by this time of night, our moon is always fast asleep.

The problem is that my wife and I can't--or won't let ourselves--go to sleep until our boy is asleep (we've got this idealist and likely naive stance against it, but I will spare you the details).  You can imagine the difficulty.  Last night stood out more starkly than others, because our church time has changed from 1pm to 9am.  Remember, we've got two little kids, one of whom is a chronic sufferer of a spectacularly gruesome strain of the morning grumpy bumps.  Again, I will spare you the details, but, just for a second, imagine how a tight white collar and tie is liable to react with such a rash.

Regardless, each night there are quite frequently two moons (generally we take turns, letting one sleep in preparation for his/her turn to shine the following night) eagerly and anxiously awaiting the departure of the shockingly cheerful sun who shines blindingly and obliviously (really, his motives are entirely innocent!  I can't blame him for anything) upon our night--the time otherwise meant for peace and sleep.

All this said, reconsider the same two excerpted stanzas with only minor variation, and imagine our constant discomfort as adequate justification for our sulking:

My son was shining on the sea,

Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright--
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.

We moons were shining sulkily,

Because we thought our son
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done--
"It's very rude of him," we said,
"To come and spoil our fun!"

Our consolation, of course, is that--especially in view of his darkling morning grumpiness--at least he's happy, and effulgently so, at least once day.  I can survive.  He is only six, after all.  Unfortunately, grumpiness is as contagious as cheeriness, and these lengthy, tired turns are liable to reveal my dark side.  My apologies (may my son read this someday and understand!).

So, happy Sunday to you all.

I wish you good napping!

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