From under a book


Hank: Mama?


Hank: Mama? Are you ok?

Me: Sure.

Hank: But your book has fallen on the top of your face.

Me: It did not fall.  I eased is slowly down when my eyes got sleepy and because my book was so close I was able to continue to dream the story during my nap.

Hank: (lifting the book and peeking at me) Can you breathe?

Me: Yes.  Books are one of my favorite smells along with orange blossoms and bacon.

Hank: Do you do this a lot?

Pai: (entering the room) She does.  I have to peel a book off her face three to four nights a week.  She only has a problem when she is using her kindle or the Ipad.

Me: (fully awake and sitting up) I am surprised I haven’t broken my nose by this point.

Hank: You mean you fall asleep reading and the ipad falls on your face?

Me: Exatamente (exactly).

Hank: You make reading dangerous.

Me: I wouldn’t have it any other way.


A couple Saturdays ago


Me: Hank, how old are you?

Hank: Six

Me: How many fingers do you have?

Hank: (looks) Ten.

Me: Have you looked out the window?

Hank: YES and there is sun.  What are we going to do?

Me: We have sleeping dragons to feed, a fairy to buy for Mariana F.’s birthday this weekend, magazines to read at the library, and cafés to visit.  Not to mention three museums.

Hank: I am getting on my shoes.

Me: But wait, before we go we have chores.

Hank: Argh.

Me: I feel the same way.  What are your chores?

Hank:  Talheres (silverware) to the table, cleaning up my room, and washing my face, brushing my teeth and faz xixi (pee) before bed.

Me: Today you get one more.  And this way we get going faster.  I will wash the lunch dishes and put away the food if you take the dry clothes from the drying rack and then bring me the clothespins.

Hank: Where do I put the clothes?

Me: In the laundry basket I provide.

Hank: Then what?

Me: Then I have to put the wet clothes out into the sun and after we may leave.

Hank: I will help you with the wet clothes too. I want to leave fast.  I need adventure.

Me: Lets get to work.




Hank: Mamamamammamammammama?

Me: Yes, young one?

Hank: Have you seen my noodlebook?

Me: Your what exactly?

Hank: My red sketchbook that Sarabeth Noodle made me.  It is not my sketchbook. It is my noodlebook.

Me: Check by the fairy door.  I remember you sketching… I mean noodling over there the other day.

Hank: (rummaging) Here it is. May I take it to school?

Me: You may.  Remember to take care of it.

Hank: I will.  Oh.  It has a stain.

Me: Really?

Hank: This will make it more cool.

Me: Your sketchbook should always look like it was run over by a truck full of ideas.

Hank: I can do that.