Andrew and I just got home from a banquet about an hour ago. He won an award—the Garth N. Jones Writing Award—which I'll post about later since I neglected to take any pictures with our camera. I still have about a half hour left of work and since it's 11:30 I'll be quick here because I do like to be in bed, or at least heading in that direction, by midnight. I can probably count on one hand the number of times that has happened since grad school happened...three years ago.
It's a bad habit.
And I'm not even the one in grad school.
Anyway, Grandma put the girls to bed for us, even though Rachel claimed she was "not tired," so they were asleep when we came home. That did not stop them, however, from sensing that we were home once we got here and crying out for attention. Children have magical parental-sensors and they can just tell when their mommy is near and when she isn't. I don't know how they do it.
Miriam needed to nurse, of course, and Rachel needed to be re-tucked-in.
I thought Rachel was asleep when I put Miriam back to bed but apparently she wasn't because just as I sat back down in my chair to work she started grunting and groaning.
"Rachel, what's wrong?" I asked.
She responded with more grunting and groaning and threw in a toss or two for good measure.
"Use your words, please, and tell me what's wrong," I prompted.
"I just need my sister closer but she won't come," she sniffed.
Miriam was lying down in the far end of her crib, sucking her thumb and pulling her ear and holding her blanket and baby doll. Don't ask me how she has enough hands to do all of that. She just does.
"Miriam, will you sleep over here, close to Rachel?" I asked.
She nodded.
I slid her over to the other side of the crib, the side closest to Rachel, and wished them both a good night.
I haven't heard a peep from them since.
Sometimes you just need a sister, I guess.
It's a bad habit.
And I'm not even the one in grad school.
Anyway, Grandma put the girls to bed for us, even though Rachel claimed she was "not tired," so they were asleep when we came home. That did not stop them, however, from sensing that we were home once we got here and crying out for attention. Children have magical parental-sensors and they can just tell when their mommy is near and when she isn't. I don't know how they do it.
Miriam needed to nurse, of course, and Rachel needed to be re-tucked-in.
I thought Rachel was asleep when I put Miriam back to bed but apparently she wasn't because just as I sat back down in my chair to work she started grunting and groaning.
"Rachel, what's wrong?" I asked.
She responded with more grunting and groaning and threw in a toss or two for good measure.
"Use your words, please, and tell me what's wrong," I prompted.
"I just need my sister closer but she won't come," she sniffed.
Miriam was lying down in the far end of her crib, sucking her thumb and pulling her ear and holding her blanket and baby doll. Don't ask me how she has enough hands to do all of that. She just does.
"Miriam, will you sleep over here, close to Rachel?" I asked.
She nodded.
I slid her over to the other side of the crib, the side closest to Rachel, and wished them both a good night.
I haven't heard a peep from them since.
Sometimes you just need a sister, I guess.
Oh I can't WAIT until they are old enough to hear stories like this and say "yeah, we've always been best friends." SO so sweet.
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