At the tail end of summer, earlier “late” bedtimes have become much, much later bedtimes… Monday night, Daughter wandered out of her bedroom at 10.35 pm:
Daughter: I just need a glue stick. And scissors.
Us: ---? It’s long past your bedtime!
Daughter, getting tearful: But I just realized it’s Big Dog’s *birthday tomorrow! [*stuffed animal.] And I have to make him a card!
Us, in soothing tones: That’s great. You can make him a card in the morning.
Daughter: But he’s going to be eight!
Daughter could only be mollified and sent back to bed if Hubby wrote “Big Dog’s B/day” on his hand (because neither child trusts to our memory, wisely). As a result, Big Dog scored: a homemade cake, frosted and with his name on it, candles, cards, and song. Daughter made an elaborate birthday hat for BD.
Her first words to me this morning: Hooray! Now it's Blankie's birthday today!
Stress is making me a shit person
14 hours ago