J was running around last night, so Brad went up to sleep in the hall. Undeterred, she walked right past him as he was conked out and came down to jump on me.

I carried her back to her crib, and kicked his pillow on my way past, saying, annoyed, “Doesn’t do a lot of good to have you out here if you don’t wake up.”

Back to sleep.

This morning, as we were getting ready…

Brad: “I’m sorry about that, honey. I didn’t even hear her. She must have saw I was tired and said, ‘Oh, I’ll wake up mom!’ Usually she tells me she’s up by smacking me on the side of the head with a gallon of milk and yelling, ‘Milky!'”

True story. 

And every day, I’m stupid enough to ask myself, “Why are we so tired?”

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