An hour past Bed Time, that’s where I find myself.
Our younger daughter lying on the hardwood floor outside my room, pretending to read to her self in the dark. She’s telling a story.
It’s a school night. Whoowee. Tensions are rising. In me, anyway.
Rather than blow a fuse, I try to relate.
But that’s a lot of parenting, a lot of life in my experience. Do what you can; give and take. And so I did.
I got comfortable sitting in hall next to my daughter, and I listened to her tell the story. Pretty quickly she explains what’s really going on. In the dark. Past bed time. But oh well, that’s where we were.
It didn’t last that long. And we were both better off after that short conversation. Lesson learned. Again. GOOD.