Blinded by the light

It's nearly one AM.

I should go to bed. I will be up in 6 hours, attempting to make lunches, find shoes, and shove kids out the door by 7:55 AM. Yep, I had a few things to finish up for my new church assignment. But that is not why I am still up.

Why am I up?

Boogers, that's why. And eyelashes.

Tessa staggered out of her room a while ago, whimpering (finally, she is sleeping in her own room, but can I keep her there? No, of course not).

"My eyelash huwt." (That's hurt for all you non-preschool scholars). She coughs.

I hug her and put her back to bed.

Moments later... "Will you help me go potty?" (She says this one a lot, hence the clarity.) Then begins the tussle over the hall light. She says it huwts her eyes. I can't see to help her with out it. I win.

Sort'a.

I return a now furious, congested, and self-proclaimed blind toddler to bed. She cries for 15 minutes. Finally, cries become whimpers, and whimpers fade to blissful silence.

Moments later... "Mommy, yook ad my doze" (which is stuffy-nosed talk for My boogers are running down my face). She stands with her eyes shut (to prevent further retina damage, certainly), pointing with her finger to the snail-trail running down to her top lip. Since her eyes are shut, I get away with a quiet giggle.

I retrieve a soft, Chinese pre-fold cloth diaper for her (I am a diaper snob. Read Chinese pre-fold, think Cadillac.) and ever so gently, wipe her little button nose.

I tell her to go back to bed.

"I scaywed, it dawk." (What do I do with that? It's too bright, it's too dark... some one hit me in the head with something very hard, please.)

She curls up beside me on the couch. She throws her leg over the top of my right arm while I type, and fades into gurgly slumber.

Her leg is still there. My hand is now numb. It's gonna be a long day tomorrow.



Special thanks to husband Guy for the help with my ridiculous punctuation in this post (because) I (use) too (many) of (these)))))!