Last night after Little Red went to bed and my husband and I were downstairs we heard the unmistakable noise of the door closing. (Little Red often closes his bedroom door behind himself when he gets up — it really helps me wake up in the morning, I have warning before he’s suddenly beside my bed!) My husband came back downstairs a couple of minutes, laughing. “That wasn’t his bedroom door we heard.”
“That was our bedroom door. He put himself to bed in our bed.”
Today while we were in WalMart (long story, but the short version is that we took the trek out with our neighbour on the hopes that the fabric selection at WalMart was better than that at our local JoAnn store. It wasn’t, but now we know.) Little Red suddenly said to me, “baby is talking.” I wasn’t sure what he meant, but he further elaborated that his brother was talking to him.
“What is he saying?” I asked.
“hi Little Red,” he said, smiling, with his thumb still in his mouth.
I was pretty sure I had a third story, but Little Red’s downgraded croup to mild cold has hit me like a Mack Truck and I seem to be dropping brain cells left and right. Maybe I’ll remember later and edit it in. Or maybe I’ll just lie on the couch and watch Monsters Inc.