It was a dark and stormy night, in the witching hour that often falls between dinner and bathtime. Little Man and I had been cooped up in the house alone all day, with nary a walk, Dada, or Nana to distract us.
We were over it.
We had played everything--trucks, blocks, trains. We watched Mickey Mouse ClubHouse, Winnie the Pooh, and Baby Genius. We'd done dishes and laundry (both interactive, water-based activities when you have a 1 year old). We'd drawn with crayons--I even pulled out the markers, so you know I was really desperate. The next day--with the weather channel's promise of sunny, 70 degree weather--couldn't arrive fast enough.
Or so I thought.
After a long period of whining and wandering aimlessly around the living room, Little Man swiped my Kindle from the arm of the couch and took off with it into his bedroom. Fearing the drool-induced death of my e-reader, I followed him and was surprised to find him collecting his own favorite books from his bookshelf and piling them on to the floor where he had placed my kindle. He pulled me down onto the floor next to him and started to flip through his books. When I didn't get it, he dropped my Kindle in my lap and pointed.
"Words," he said, and went back to his reading.
We sat that way for nearly an hour, reading our own books, occasionally sharing something with the other. His sharing usually included an excited "oo!oo!" when he came across a favorite picture, and my "sharing" happened when he was between books and checked in on me to point out that I was reading words. "Oooo, ma--ma-ma-ma! Words!"
All the frustration of the dark and stormy day melted away, and suddenly, tomorrow could have taken all the time it wanted to get here.
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