Saturday morning, my back was killing me. I must have slept wrong. Nevertheless, I found myself down on all fours with AJ's Nerf sword in hand trying to fish out a wooden "N" from the far corner under Sydney's bed, so that she won't grow up thinking - based on the decorative letters hanging on her wall - that her name is spelled "SYD EY."
What I discovered when I finally got down to floor level, was that the "N" was surrounded by a whole bunch of partially used kleenex. Apparently every time my daughter wipes her nose, she stuffs the tissue between the wall and the mattress. (I guess I'm glad to know the dog hasn't been eating them, which is what I'd always assumed.)
Stretching with the sword, I'd retrieved about half the kleenex when I heard Sydney call loudly from the living room.
"Mom!"
"What Sydney?"
(No response.) I continued to swipe at the kleenex.
"Mom!"
"What Sydney?"
Still no response. I started to get up.
"Mom!"
By now I reached the doorway to the living room. "What Sydney?"
She was laying on the floor watching TV. She held up her empty glass of milk, "I'm done with my milk."
I directed her to get up and put her glass in the sink as she's always expected to do.
She followed that up, just a couple hours later, by running inside and excitedly announcing, "Mommy, I picked you a flower!"
A mix of frustration and sweet moments. That, my son, is what it's like to be a grown up.
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