Nonsensicles

As she does every night, Abigail made sure her babies were put to bed.

She has quite a few babies. And a large number of other friends, who come in the form of a blue otter, a very odd monkey that crinkles and wears a fez, cats in several shades, a pink dachshund and any number of other critters. Most of them sleep in a large basket that Abigail actually inhabited when she was a baby. The others rest in what used to be Henry and Limbo’s cat beds, now converted to a higher purpose.

She covers them all with blankets, takes turns praising them and admonishing them, and then sends them off to sleep.

Oh, and Bengal is turned over onto his back and another blanket is laid over him. He’s much too big for the basket, you see.

We read four books tonight. It was only supposed to be three: Hondo and Fabian, Caps for Sale and Hop on Pop. However, when Hop on Pop came up, she declared that we had to read one more. I asked her which one she wanted.

“I don’t want … I don’t like …,” she muttered to herself. I didn’t say anything as she zeroed in on it.

“He doesn’t like … Green Eggs and Ham.” She announced at last. I can’t tell you how much I loved watching her thought process play out like that.

After we finished that last book, we had to go over the train section a couple times. She rightly had concerns over its route.

Once we were done with the last book, I switched off the light and turned on her star turtle, like I do every night. I thought she’d roll over and go to sleep right away, which is always the height of awesomelyness (It is a word. Shut up.) at bedtime. However, after a few minutes, she rolled over and started checking out my face. By which I mean, with her hands. I took off my glasses to let her do this. There were rules, however.

“Don’t stick your fingers in other people’s noses, honey.” She’d managed a quick stab into both nostrils, declaring each time that there was snot.

“Why?”

“Because people don’t like that.”

A little later, she asked, “What’s your name, Daddy? Is it Owex?”

I ignored her for a moment and then after she pressed (She can really press. It’s a talent.) agreed that, yes, it was Owex. And it went on like this for a while. Sleep is never a gentle process for Abigail, except on days of highest awesomelyness. She fights sleep like a mortal enemy, her hands fidgeting, her mind clearly racing for the next thing. It sounds familiar. I expect to find her reading by flashlight under her covers some day in the not too distant future. I got away with that far more often than I got caught.

This all just seems like a big ramble at this point, since I have written myself into a story with no ending. I mean, we needed Momma’s help to get Abigail to bed tonight, so it was actually a pretty tough bedtime. But I still really enjoyed my time with her. Watching the way she interacts with the world is engrossing.