Chickadee is home again, and I know it’s wrong, but the regression she experiences when tired and uncomfortable totally makes me giggle. I swear last night I navigated a crowd of parents and stinky middle schoolers and plucked Toddler Chickadee of Yore out of the crowd, she who hugged me and delighted in my having brought the dog and promptly broke down into sniffles because her face was sunburned and it “huuuuuuuuurts” to wear her glasses (sniff, sniff). I tried to be solicitous, I did; but I kept laughing. It was all just so very pitiful.
I brought her home and tucked her into bed and am not anticipating seeing her today for many hours, yet. Poor little pumpkin of impaired judgment.
While the dog and I wait to see whether we get well-rested and happy Chickadee or cranky pubescent harbinger of doom, I’ve been musing on a little something I’d like to tell my younger self, and possibly pass along to Chickadee, as well. And that important message is over at Off Our Chests today. (Hint: It involves appreciation of Life Before Gravity.)