I have a son. He’s awesome. (I also have a daughter, she’s awesome too, for future reference.) My point is, the other night when I was tucking my son into bed, we had our usual cuddle and nighttime chat, but this particular night he had trouble getting to sleep.

He’s 7. And as a 7 year old boy, his life is pretty much: school, karate, swimming, playing lots of Mario games, eating ice cream sandwiches, being hassled by his well-intentioned yet excruciatingly persistent 6 year old little sister, and a mother who insists on kissing him all the time to test his levels of cheek kissability. But somehow, this night he had troubling thoughts on his mind, things left undone, work to finish.

If you’ve ever wondered what might stress out a 7 year old boy – it’s penguins. As he tossed and turned, he said, “Mom, I just, I just can’t sleep.” I asked, “What’s the trouble?” In my head I was wondering what could be on this child’s mind to cause him not to sleep. I know he’s exhausted, I know he loves sleeping, what could be so pressing? I know he’s reached all the levels he wanted to on Lego Star Wars the Complete Saga for Wii. What else could there be? He rolled over and put his hands over his face and lamented out loud, “Penguins, mom. I gotta work on my penguins.”

So penguins. Those bastards. I hugged him and said, “Tell me about the penguins, sweetie.” “Mom, we’re working on drawing penguins in art class. My teacher said we’d be working on penguins for the week. And my penguins aren’t that good. She said, we all need to go home and work on our penguins.” In my head again, I’m thinking, c’mon, y’draw a bowling pin with black, white, and a beak. Relax little dude. But he couldn’t. Those penguins of perfection were pecking at his tired brain. And there was nothing to say to console him. (there’s actually nothing that will console an exhausted child at that hour.) But I tried.

“Ben,” I said, “If you want to draw penguins at home, of course we can. But I know that you’re penguins are great. I love how you draw.” Then he said, “Mom, all I can draw is stick figures, stupid stick figures.” Here’s the thing, his stick figures are awesome. I assured him, it’s all ok, it’s only one day, of one week, of a whole life. It’s drawing, it’s penguins, it’s only supposed to be what you put on the paper, all creativity is awesome. Don’t compare yourself. If it’s yours, it’s amazing.

Finally, more taken over by exhaustion than reconciling his turmoil, he rolled over and yawned. He fell asleep after a little bit.

Then I went to bed. I rolled over and slapped my forehead cause I hadn’t made some calls I should’ve. I also had a giant pile of laundry to fold right next to my bed. I closed my eyes…It’s all just penguins, and I don’t need to work on my penguins right now.

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