Dearest Daughters,
This is my view from the porch right now.
The experience of drinking my tea, peacefully watching Babybel play is enabled by the fact that Danjo the Destructo is in a far, far away land called Lola's House. I would otherwise be cleaning spills, saying "no", avoiding projectiles, and investing every penny (I keep Danjo from swallowing) into orthodontia futures.
When I'm with just one of you, even if I'm not playing with you, you become different children all together.
Without Babybel around, Danjo is a sweet, cuddly thing that plays quietly by herself, reading books and discussing poetry.
Without Danjo, Babybel stops her needy, injured every time the wind blows, pee in her pants regression. And she plays, pretends, we have pleasant conversations.
Bel made a make-shift stool by turning a toy bus upside-down. Clever girl.
"How're ya doin' up there, Mommy?"
"Fine, thanks, how're ya doin' down there?"
"Oh, good. Just needs one more thing and I'm almost done."
"What are you making?"
"I'm just moving ant hills. Like this," with an emphatic scoop, dump and pat of her shovel.
"The ants won't be angry that you moved their home? Look, they're running away."
A thoughtful glance from the planter full of dirt and ants to her relocated ant hill condo construction, "Okay, Mommy. I'm just make a stomach instead."
Sure, kid.
"And I'm only just make a head later."
Whatever floats your boat.
Love,
Mommy
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