My weary back seems to sigh with relief as I sit myself down after the last child has fallen to sleep. My eyes wander around the room and fall to the shoes strewn across the floor, mere inches away from the baskets in which they are supposed to be stored.
With each stroke of the crayon, the zombie is peeled away. Because of life and all its glorious plot twists (plot twist: you're moving across the country!) I have fallen into the trap of allowing them so much screen time a day, they don't know what to do with themselves when they don't have a device within their chubby little grasp or a screen in front of their wide eyes. Within hours, they are completely occupied by simply paper and crayons. We are back to our rhythm, the rhythm of crayons and books and blocks and giggles and chases and beating hearts.
Grumpy child. So easily tears fill her eyes, her face goes blotchy red, her bottom lip sticks out as her world crumbles for one reason or another. She is usually pleasant, but today... good lord save us all. Thankfully Daddy has off today. And Daddy reads her 13 books and needs her help putting a bookshelf together. Daddy magic.