Sitting one evening at the table, talking to my younger daughter. She’s in her pajamas; me too. She’s playing with her dolls. I’m listening, face in my hands. Nodding off, I gently drift.

“Dad, you’re falling asleep…!”, she mocks me. And then she goes back to her story, recounting a “Full House” episode.

I’m focusing on her word selection. I love it. Love listening to her; love listening to them, their stories. So very thankful. This one, and the other two. Love them to pieces.

And that listening to them? Mostly a joy; 99.99%; a little less so when it’s time for bed.

Yawn.

Night night.