Last night Tami and I heard some whimpering coming from Timothy’s room. When I went in to check on him, he was curled up in his bed, mostly asleep, crying on and off a bit.

I shook him awake a little and asked him if he was okay, since he was a bit sick over the past few days and I was concerned that he was not feeling well. He mumbled something I did not understand, and I asked again.

“The door is closed!” he whined.

“What door, Timothy?”

…mumbling, then “The door on the rocket.”

Me: “The door on the rocket is closed, and you can’t get in?”

“Yeah.”

“…Okay, well you go back to sleep, get into the rocket with Wallace and Gromit, and enjoy a trip to the moon.”