There's a sweet spot with Will--or rather, we've come to call it the "sweet spot."
It doesn't involve a golf club hitting a ball at the perfect place, or a masseuse digging out that knot in your back just so.
Rather, it is the time between the hours of 7 p.m. and 8 p.m.
This sweet period of time is the opposite of the witching hour; there are no tantrums, no screaming. He doesn't throw shoes, bang on dog bowls with wooden spoons, beg to have apple juice, or chase Kitty around the house. Instead, he makes up songs, tells stories, and cooperates. He begs to have books read, to watch baseball with dad, to color on his easel.
As we get minutes closer to that bedtime of eight o'clock, he gets a bit more cuddly, and a bit more loving.
This sweet spot does wonders for my mental health. When I look back on the age of two, I hope that it's this hour that I remember the most...
...Not the number of shoes thrown at my head from the back seat of the car.
No comments:
Post a Comment