I went to bed in a cozy t-shirt. Sophie woke me up this morning by complaining that my shirt had “spots” on it. She was correct, as I had splattered a bit of beach on this favorite shirt just the other day. I sleepily tried to put Sophie off, by telling her that it was okay, it was just bleach, and I already knew about it. She wasn’t buying. She woke Papa, to tell him of my sloth. “It’s like food on there!” she complained.
Kinsley then clambers up and puts her chubby baby hand on my forehead. “Mama, you have a fever!” she announces. I don’t.
“Well, I guess I’d better stay in bed all day.” I tell her.
“No, Mama, if you got up, went downstairs, and cooked breakfast, then your fever would get better.” Darn.
Next Kinsley announces that she has a new song, which she made by “collecting up all the words, and putting them in her song”. It’s a very long ballad, inspired by the more boring of the minstrels from the middle ages. It apparently requires rapt parental attention.
Sophie pats Papa again and says “Sooo, Papa – my juice is empty and you need to go downstairs and get more”.
The girls begin an argument about whether The Boy will be named Truxton, or Addie (Addie is Sophie’s new, and more contrary idea).
Then they need to write letters to each other, each extolling the sweetness of the other sister.
The phone rings. Kinsley insists that we go downstairs and answer it.
The day has begun.