scribblechic

Bedtime on a summer evening feels like a sad impossibility to a spirited six-year-old.  Bath, books, and kisses signaled the end of another day.  For me.  The sound of our hall linen closet clicking open and closed combined with the frenzied thumping of little feet racing back to bed told me the evening was young.  I called out a firm “good-night” from my side of the hallway, aware the stolen moments are the sweetest.  Silence followed and so I tiptoed to my daughter’s doorway curious to discover if sleep or a secret adventure created the absence of sound.  This is what I found…

Curled up on her bed, head bent in a determined endeavor, my daughter was tying wash clothes to her feet; one orange and one pink, ends flopping over like terry cloth bunny ears.  Her efforts revealed she tipped her head determinedly and declared,  I am making skates.  Then to demonstrate the significance of the task at hand, she popped off her bed and skated around her room, hardwood floors welcoming the adventure, and I let it pass with a smile.

Tagged: Bedtime, Daughter