WordPosted: November 12, 2014
Here are some actual conversations I had with my children today:
Little Liebchen: Mom!
Hipster Hausfrau: Um, you don’t calll me mom. You’re not even two. What’s my name?
Little Liebchen, with an enormous, smug grin: Yee-dya (a clear attempt to say my given name).
II. I emerge from getting dressed after bathing with my kids (yup, still doing that) wearing this:
Das Big Boy: Mom, you’re not going out?!
HH: DBB, would I ever, ever in a million years leave the house wearing this?
DBB (evaluates me closely): No.
HH: LL, what was the best part of your day?
(We do this as a lovely family bedtime ritual in which each member shares his/her best part of the day. Children are encouraged to come up with something that a) actually happened, and b) isn’t “When I saw the railroad.” Adults are supposed to say something that involves the children, rather than naps and/or wine.)
LL: Boob milk.
IV: An hour after DBB was first put to bed.
DBB: Hey, Mom. I want to go to the bed that I love.
HH: And what bed would that be?
DBB’s voice has been rendered indecipherable by the fact that he has clearly moved to our bed and buried himself in covers.
HH replaces DBB in his own bed.
HH: Ok, honey, good night. I love you.
DBB: Ok, mom. I love you.