And what do you say, dear?In another post, I will proselytize yer fannies off with my newfound obsession: sinus irrigation.
But this, just in:
7:34 a.m. Daughter has just slept 11 consecutive hours in her own room, in her own bed, with nary a peep. She arrives at my bedside, clutching her blankie, stuffed cheetah, and the practically-life-sized stuffed penguin her Auntie just sent.
"Look, Mama," she says, urgently.
"mmmfhhfff?" I say, astutely.
"Mama," she breathes, in an emphatic stage whisper, pointing at a spot on her ankle where a BandAid had been placed before bed the night before. "The Band-Aid Fairy Came," she says, in a tone of awe generally reserved for the Second Coming, the finding of two maraschino cherries in your sundae, or the announcement that human beings can now fly to Mars. "She took that BandAid off oh-so gently. Do you think," she asks, enthralled, "that she left me some MONEY?"