The house is dark, after a cleaning-till-2am night followed by a slap full day, and the soul-crushingly exhausted state has taken over, it's always the time for doors to creek open and tiny feet pat across the hardwood floor.
Ivey: "Mommy. Aren't you glad I didn't call your name and talk after you tucked me in?"
Me: "Yes. What are you doing up?"
Ivey: "I wanted to tell you sumpthing. I am excited about prossessing chickens tomorrow."
Me: "Please go back to bed."
I give it 15 minutes until a repeat, with another random "thing" she needs to tell me.
Scratch that. 4 minutes until wailing in growing pain shin agony. Guess I'm getting back up after all.
No comments:
Post a Comment