My Night in Numbers, With Words.

I’m watching my sister’s babies tonight. All four of them.

My last two hours have consisted of the following:

1. Chronicles of Narnia watching

2. Cracker eating

3. Book reading

4. Teeth brushing

5. Diaper changing

6. Hand washing

7. Pajama changing

8. Minnie Mouse in the toybin finding

9. Crying stopping

10. Cell phone reclaiming

11. Lullaby making

12. Needed praying

13. Story-Telling: Goldie Rocks and the Three Bears. A rock-fairy tale set in Central Park, NYC, in which all of the bears speak in British accents, and Goldie is a teenage rockstar.

Auntiehood is the necessity of invention.

They’re all laying down now, but I can hear the oldest two whispering to each other from their bunkbeds. If it wasn’t so sweet, and it didn’t bring back such good memories of my sisters and I staying up and whispering to each other when we were young, I might put an end to it. But for now, I’ll give them ten more minutes. This time is more precious than they’ll ever realize in the moment. I’ll recognize it for them. Gladly.

I feel old. I’m twenty-four. I don’t know how that happened, or why it feels more like thirty-four. I think I have old soul, and I’m not just referring to the kinship I feel to Angela Lansbury everytime I watch Murder, She Wrote.

But seriously, that show is wicked awesome.

And now, I’m off to scour the house for something to read. Preferably something that Jesus will use to soften my heart and awaken my soul. So, One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish is pretty much out.

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