To concerned parties, an update: the big-kid beds are a huge success so far, and kids have remained in them like docile lambs until their reverse-alarm clock turns green at 7am. After confiding her fear that scary monsters would have easier access to her, Annie bounded out of bed the first morning and reported cheerfully, “Nothing ate me!”
On January 1, 2019, Annie climbed out of her crib, walked over to Paul’s, and coached him through his own first exit. We intercepted them, giggling, on their way to the door.
Annie’s first words in the morning as Bryan and I enter the room:
(singing) “The wheels on the bus go T U V…” —Paul
“I want my door closed because I want it closed beCAUSE.” —Paul
“Busy is the kind of thing that you’re very.” —Annie
Paul said, like, three priceless things on the way home from school today, and I tried so hard to remember them. But now after bedtime, the only one that stuck is, “I let out a biiiig toot.”
Mom moment: During Annie’s sick-day-at-work, we left the office once to walk a lap around the Tower in the pretty sunshine. Typically, Annie sneezed as soon as she looked up at the bright sky. Because she was sick, she also ejected two bullet trains of snot. And since I had not had the foresight to bring tissues, I just pinched the whole wad of mucus off her face with my fingers. I smeared them clean on the sidewalk, and dabbled them through the shrubbery to finish the job. I like to think a 19-year-old sophomore witnessed this and learned something about life.
Immediately I have said goodnight and closed the door:
I open the door—Yes?
Annie: What happens if a bear loves eating mustard?
A: Paul, what’s your favorite thing? To play with at school?
P: A school bus, and a fire truck, and a truck, and a school bus, and a truck.