As I'm careening through my morning routine on about cup 3 of lukewarm coffee I realize that my usual toddler shadow isn't attached to my personage as I dry my hair. Weird. I turn the blow dryer off and man, it's really quiet. Too quiet. Part of me (the part that can't believe I've been up for two hours and still have wet hair) thinks, just enjoy it. Be appreciative. Finish this one thing and then go investigate. The other part of me (the one that fears uncapped markers and toppled bookshelves) thinks wet hair is not such a big deal compared to a ruined couch or a quick trip to the emergency room before work. It's a long walk down the hallway to find
my monkey sitting on the floor of his room, half dressed reading (okay talking out loud with a book in his lap)
this book. All I hear as I get closer is "now, can I have dessert??" repeated a few times, clear as a bell. He looks up, sees me and asks for some spinach. It's 8:15 in the morning and dammit if I'm not tempted to walk back down the hall and whip some up. You should get
this book. You should also get a three year old if you can. They're the best.