Our bleary little 3-year-old rubbed his eyes. His pajama getup this morning includes a green top with Santa Claus logos emblazoned across it and navy blue pants with race cars.
I invited him to sit in my lap. As he climbed up to the table in the kitchen, he quipped: "I thought it was breakfast."
I explained that breakfast would be coming, but it's still pretty early.
Then he began asking questions:
"Why is it blowing?" (Because there's a fan in the computer that keeps it from getting too hot.)
"What if you press the circle?" (It moves the mouse around the screen.)
And then he just sat in my lap, watched me type, pushed his stubby finger along the track pad, and flopped his head from side to side onto my forearms.
You can't beat a quiet morning. You sure can't beat a sleepy, snuggly tot.
I overslept today and didn't make the progress I'd hoped. But somehow -- "Daddy, what are you typing in? A little blog post? Of a baby sleeping?" -- that's not really what matters, anyway.