“I want baby eight mindful breathing,” Ari told me after we finished reading a second picture book.
“What?” I asked Ari.
“Baby eight. Mindful breathing,” Ari replied with more emphasis.
“What’s baby eight?” I asked.
“B. B. 8! The mindful breathing with BB-8.” Ari replied.
“Oh!” I understood.
But I really didn’t understand. I may have realized Ari was asking me to do a one-minute, Star-Wars-themed breathing exercise, but I don’t even know who BB-8 is. I never watched “Star Wars” as a kid. A college friend was aghast by this and showed me “Star Wars” one Saturday night freshman year. I fell asleep on it.
We did the one-minute breathing exercise with BB-8 (whoever/whatever it is). Then we did a kids’ guided meditation. Finally, I said good night.
Just as I settled into bed around 9:15, a visitor came into my bedroom.
“I can’t sleep,” Ari declared.
“I see that,” I replied.
“Don’t you want this blanket over your legs?” he asked noticing I had an ice pack on my ankle, but wasn’t covered up.
“I am cold. Is that why you came in here?” I replied.
“Okay, I’ll take the blanket,” I said.
Ari tossed the blanket over my legs and then made himself at home in my bed.
Around 9:30 p.m., I realized it had been about an hour since we meditated in Ari’s room and about 50 minutes since I said “good-night” to him. And look who was still beside me: