A couple of months ago when we’d forgotten the color of our daughter’s eyes, we banned reading at the table. It seemed the best way to get reacquainted.
Only yesterday before she could slip from the table to the couch, the book that was in our daughter’s hand snuck up to her face. Whereby the rest of us no longer existed. For the next twenty pages or so.
Only forget reading for a moment.
On occasion our daughter also gets a song in her heart and, well, the child must dance.
That this is ‘groovy dancing’ certainly had to be explained to me.
The cat, too.
Here’s some more grooving going on. Uh, nevermind the partially painted back drop. Or the fact that the cat can’t make sense of the head shaking either.
Because it’s becoming obvious that the kid in the pink fleece with the spaghetti stained face just might hop around to a different drummer.
Unless that’s her brother’s distinction.
Yes.
It must be her brother’s.
I had a dream about sleep. . . 