I spent a good amount of my Albuquerque childhood with my face smashed against my bedroom window screen, watching the neighborhood kids. I particularly remember these evening conversations:
(Next door neighbors squealing with delight as I watched them having the BEST TIME OF THEIR LIVES.)
Neighbor sees my nose pressed into the screen like a pig. “Hey! ASHTON! Ask your mom if you can come over to the clubhouse!”
Me: “I can’t! I’m in BED!”
Then I would squeak the window closed quietly so my parents wouldn’t know that was ME screaming a response to my name as I was supposed to be asleep, even though it was light outside…and I’m pretty sure the Warin’s hadn’t eaten dinner.
Well played, Mom.
What used to be a baffling, sunny-bedtime mystery now is what I aspire to as a parent: early bedtime sergeant.
I’m on that path, but my son beat me to it! Gus has been really into this “bedtime at 6:30” lately, and I guess all babies are…news to me! This is great! (He has even been sleeping through the night, but I have to whisper that. Last time he had a few good nights, I got cocky. Prematurely. Gus had a surprise retaliation and yelled at me, personally, for an hour. I tried to hold back tears and let myself cry it out. I watched in the monitor as his socks flew off in an angry rage. No Pottery Barn bumper has before seen the likes of such prune fueled bicycle kicks. He was just short of setting Sleep Sheep ablaze, when the fatigue of so much physical exertion hit him. When the sun came up, he returned to being a little angel.) (We’re hoping there won’t be a relapse.)
Anyway, that’s our update. I’m really enjoying the memory part of my brain returning (slowly).
As for trophy wifeing, I got a new lipstick, and I’m thinking about flossing daily.