|Kind of an old Honeybadger picture, but definitely one for the books.|
“Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them” ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Tonight, while settling Elsa down to sleep (which involves a lengthy ritual interrupted by room break-outs and waking up siblings and sometimes sleeping in a drawer voluntarily or doing some other such day-extending naughtiness), we were snuggled together. Nose to nose, her head resting on my hand, she said Let's do High/Low. When asked her high, she said school. This is always her answer. Her low involved choosing the wrong stick for the stick pony she made today. I'm guessing in a world where that's your low, you're doing pretty well.
Then she asked me mine.
My high was. . . well, it was the first day of the new semester, so seeing fifty fresh faces in the classroom was great. That was my high. Then I told her my low was when I lost my temper with everyone in the house this afternoon.
Mama she said.
Don't worry, Mama. She said.
I'll help you find it tomorrow, Mama. And then I snuggled her until she drifted off to sleep.