This evening, as we were driving home from the hardware store with the kids in the back seat, Brandon and I were discussing who was to put which child to bed. Normally, we both participate in the nightly rituals, but for one reason or another (football, e-bay), Brandon has left the routines to me the past few nights. This evening, in the car, Anali overheard me asking Daddy to put her to bed.
"No, I want Mommy. I want Mommy," she gently wailed.
Parents laugh up front.
Eventually, unlike my junior high writers, she realized she would need a reason or detail to support that claim.
"Gotta org-a-nize my books," Anali explains.
Parents laugh.
"No, sweetie. It's time for bed," Mother coaxes.
"Daddy's back hurts!" Anali reasons.
"Propaganda!" Mother exclaims.
Parents laugh.
"Propaganda!" Anali parrots.
Parents laugh.
Anali sits thoughtfully in back.
"On-stan-en-en-en-OPAL!" she calls out. [Constantinople! A vague reference to Dr. Seuss's
Hop On Pop and the biggest word she knows.]
What she was really saying was "Look at all the big words I know!"
Parents laugh uproariously up front.
Anali kicks the back of my seat, quite pleased with herself.
Asher chimes in "Dadada. Bababa. You think you can say big words? Check out these syllables! Babababa! Dadadada!"
Parents congratulate themselves on their fine parenting skills resulting in such brilliant and engaging children.
Mother puts Asher to bed.
Father puts Anali to bed.
And to all a good night.