Me: “Good morning, sleepy head. How did you sleep?”
Little Miss Thing, age 5: “I’m left handed now. I’ll do everything with my left hand forever.”
Me: “Good to know. Carry on.”
Me: “Good morning, sleepy head. How did you sleep?”
Little Miss Thing, age 5: “I’m left handed now. I’ll do everything with my left hand forever.”
Me: “Good to know. Carry on.”
I’ve been up most of the night with customer issues for work. In the 2 hours I got to sleep, I dreamed I was a Scientist who was studying my own superhuman healing powers, before I was shot five times by a street thug during a robbery of my lab. My healing powers struggled to overcome the injuries and I eventually passed out at the opening of an alley, just as Tony Stark and Bruce Banner stumbled by after a long night of drinking. I was whisked away and drifted in and out of a montage of hospital scenes. Apparently now I’m an Avenger. In my dreams. Literally.
Yelling up the stairs…
Me: “There’s entirely too much ruckus up there! You were tucked in over 20 minutes ago! Not another peep!”
(long pause)
Little Miss Thing, age 4: “Daddy?”
Me: “What?”
LMT: “I think a fart just came out of my mouth.” (so much giggling)
(long pause)
Me: “Go. To. Sleep. NOW.”
(Fake snoring noises)
Me: “I give up.”