I’d just finished a book and a song for Cady at bedtime, and tucked her in. After I said goodnight she said, “daddy, no. You stay up.”
“You want me to stay up?”
“Yeah. Make sounds, please.”
“Oh. You want to hear me while you’re going to sleep?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
I remember that feeling too.
“Cady, stay in your seat.”
“But look. Just my toe.”
“Why do you do that, Cady?”
“It feels good.”
I was tucking Cady in tonight and telling her about going to school tomorrow, when she asked the oft-queried “why?” as of late. I told her, “so that you can learn a lot of good things.”
“Why?”
“So that when you grow up, you can do whatever you want to do,” I said before listing off things like ballerina and astronaut.
“I don’t want to grow up, daddy.”
Cady, Brennyn, and I went to grab some supper at Olive Garden tonight. On the way to the table, Cady ran her hand along the wall as we trailed Brennyn and the greater. As we passed what would eventually be our waitress, Cady also ran her hand along her, just below her butt.
We had a nice dinner, where Cady ate everything but what we’d ordered for her (spaghetti and meatballs), and then head home to catch a little bit of “Despicable Me 2”, and off to read a bed and sleep.
At the end of a long day, {giggle} “I love you too, dad.”