I have wanted to start my own blog for some time now. I can't tell you all the things I have wanted to write, only to cast them aside for one reason or another. But here I am. Tonight. Presiding over cocktail hour...I mean...putzing around the kitchen after making dinner for J. Inspiration strikes, and will no longer be ignored.
J has been sick. She's had an ear infection for several days, and thus has been uncharacteristically grumpy and clingy. And thanks to our friend amoxicillin, her system has been all gorked up. I was delighted when she wanted to give it 'the old college try' in the powder room, and the mister was kind enough to keep her company.
"Tell me a story!" she says.
The mister is always happy to oblige, and goes into a tale about the night before Christmas. I was only marginally paying attention, but I did catch this insight:
"And so Santa stops at every house," he says.
"And at every house he gets fatter and fatter!" she cries.
Of course he does. What didn't anyone else note that before?!
Ok, so maybe that wasn't quite as monumental as I thought it would be. Honestly, though, the stuff that comes out of her mouth on a daily basis makes me laugh, makes me weepy, and generally gives me hope for the future of all mankind. And if that makes me a cheesy, dime-a-dozen mother of the first world, so be it. I've been called worse by better.
Welcome to my world.
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