My son has a habit of late: he toddles downstairs at 4:12 or 4:02 or 4:29 in the morning, an empty sippy cup tucked under his arm. He awakens me by poking me on the arm and whispers like a stage actor, “I am thirsty. Would you please get me some warm milk?” He is the most polite terrorist imaginable.
He goes back to bed. I fix the cup. I return to his room to find him conked out, with his disintegrating binky rolled up under his head. I am utterly awake.
My husband prefers informercials in this circumstance (he woke up one day claiming that we need a Bowflex), but I like a quick roll through the Internet. A farmer checks his barn; I check Mason-Dixon Knitting. Imagine Farmer Brown opening up the door to find that his barn has been mucked out, new fresh hay is everywhere, and his pigs somehow look more attractive. In my sleepy haze I discover that our New Look has arrived, just like that.
Hooray! Becky, of Pretty Posies fame, has moved us into the early 21st century, and we are mighty grateful.
Love, Ann (and Kay, I’m sure, if she weren’t so peacefully sleeping up there in New York with her well-behaved children)