“I’m going to wear all of my pajamas tonight!” Manchild told us as ran to his bedroom, moments after dropping his dinner plate in the sink.
Squish was hot on his heels.
Micah and I took our plates to the kitchen, too. Surveyed the damage, forgot what we were supposed to be doing.
Then Squish came out of his bedroom, shirt off, pants around his ankles, needing help removing the monkey tail he’d been wearing all afternoon. I helped him out, then went to their bedroom to talk them out of their pajama scheme. Manchild was pulling on his second pair of pants. Squish was just getting started.
And before I knew it I was kneeling on the floor, asking Squish which pair of pajamas he wanted to put on next, pulling the sleeves of his shirts down to his wrists, his pant legs down to his ankles in preparation for the next pair.
A few minutes later, Micah came to the door. “I thought I told you guys to hurry and put on your pajamas,” he said, then saw me helping Squish into his fourth pair of pants. We busted up laughing.
Sometimes . . . it’s the small things.
Always, it’s the small things.