How the mighty fall

Peanut today declared, “Butter is my best, so he gets three stickers. Mommy, you’re my second best, so you get two stickers. Cat One is my third best, so he gets one sticker. And Daddy is my last, so he gets zero stickers.”

Spouse was miffed about being last until he realized Cat Two didn’t make the list at all. I was honored to come in second to a delicious baby, and knew it was my renewed efforts at being a damned decent parent that got me top billing and a couple of sparkly dolphin stickers.

Then, after lunch, I told Peanut, “Finish up playing, and in a little while we’ll have nap.”

“Daddy!” he called. “You’re third now, and Mommy’s last. Do you want her stickers?”

Sweetest sounds

I’m taking a poll in my house (unfortunately I’ve only been asking one person, but now that I have you, the pool might expand a bit…)

Which is the sweetest sound:

a) Early morning, birds singing, cats stretching; the bedroom door across the hall opens. Tiny feet pat softly into the bathroom. Lid goes quietly up, and moments later a faint tinkling means the first battle of the day won’t be one. You can hear the sound of your own back cracking as you stretch, sigh, and wait for the feet to continue their journey to you.

b) The din from the next room distracts you, makes you anxious, bodes poorly for your ability to blink much. You’re pretty sure there won’t be a nap. There’s been banging and crashing and yelling and singing and self-negotiating going on in the bedroom ’round the corner as you sprint to check email, write a blog post, proofread an article, find the best price online on organic crackers, and upload pictures so you can make a picture-filled Mother’s Day gift for the five women in your kids’ lives. Suddenly you realize it’s *still* in the other room. Not calm before the storm still, but blissfully, restoratively quiet. Options expand before you and the shoulders you have come to believe are glued to your ears drop, silently, effortlessly to their rightful place atop your clavicle.

c) Large feet stomp out of the room. Drawers slam, a door is swung wildly on its hinges, then all stops. There is a pause. The same feet walk, slowly, placed carefully one before the other until they are quite near you. A gentle voice, disarming in its difference from the hollering nasty voice of moments before, asks, “Please tell me you’re not blogging this.”

As my college roommate purred, “can’t we have both?” Or all three? Do we have to vote for just one?

You’re welcome to add your own favorite sounds. Please do. I’d love to hear them (or, more realistically, read your description of them. Because I ain’t coming to your house to listen to you uncork your favorite bottle of “help me get through to bedtime”. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care.)