As hubby was deep into a monologue about the relative merits of three different Barbie "princess" movies while making breakfast on Thursday morning, I had an "I heart you" moment. Not so much for the breakfast, although he's the short order cook in our household (toast is the only thing that deviates from cold food that I'm capable of mastering in the morning). But the complete, devoid-of-sarcasm engagement across several bad CGI Disney films that both demonstrated he'd watched them with daughter, and thought about what messages they were sending as well (not as bad as your reflex would like to believe). His conclusion, since I realize you're dying to know, was that "Island Princess" was the weakest thus far, but he hearts Thumbelina.
And a shout out to daughter, who had her second varicella (chicken pox) vaccine yesterday. She survived all four shots at kindergarten roundup, although she was nervous about them. So we followed a similar formula: tell her three days ahead, so she's not ambushed. Friday is the day. She then requested that we write "shot" on her hand, in double dark letters, so I did. (The last thing to be written there a week ago was "sprinkle donuts," make of that what you will.) She mentioned it a few times, as in "I want to skip Friday and have it be Saturday," but otherwise coped. We said she could go morning or afternoon, because we didn't need an appointment. But I was nonetheless a bit ambushed myself when she woke me up yesterday morning, announcing that she wanted to get it over with, so I needed to get up and take her there, and she wanted to wear a dress. So, she had her shot: at 9am. In celebration, with time delay, we watched a Barbie movie (the one that is weakest thus far) and had chinese takeaway, sitting on a picnic mat on the floor, as requested.
A time-stamped case of the Mondays
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