My daughter just started blogging… Proud papa here
Two fifty-five. I don’t want to get up yet. I’m warm under my throw blanket on the couch. I read too long and nap too little. (This week’s portal transports me to a small Channel island after the war. Letters and telegrams, small snippets of lives, until I’m sure we’ve met before and just forgot to schedule a get-together.)
Three o’clock. I love technology. Hate it. I don’t want to get up yet, but the night light turns on at three. By the time I remember to tell Alexa to turn it off, it’s too late. He’s already seen it. The LED beacon that announces his freedom to exit the sleeping area. He wakes his brother, his partner in shenanigans. He goes to the bathroom. I still am not used to it, the freedom of him using a toilet. It’s the little things.
He goes right past me when he’s…
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