We're all in bed. I hear Leila stirring and reach my hand across H to find hers. "I love you mommy."
"Read your story" she tells me when I tell her to stop taking Ali's toy away from him. She wanted to play with it herself. He loved it that she was playing it with him. Later she tries to send me from the room. I wonder why, until I realize she wants to play with the toy again. I ask her, and she affirms my deduction. I tell her it's okay now, because he isn't playing with it. If I don't witness what's she's doing it's okay.
"I draw 'bil" She says. What? She drew on our friend's shirt with a crayon. I say she must tell him we'll buy him a new one from her Christmas money and she won't get to buy a present: "we buy you a new shirt and we buy you a present," she tells him. She finally says sorry, and he says "it's okay." That's what she says when I tell her she's done something wrong. She'll listen seriously and agree, and then say, "But, it's okay." No, it's not okay, I try to tell her, but she doesn't want to listen.
Ali is eating food. He makes the best faces when he doesn't like something, like peas or rice cereal. H gets the camera to record and I keep feeding him things he doesn't like. I don't think the camera got any really good shots. He likes carrots, but likes even better to spit them out at me. One day he starts spitting them and laughing and laughing. HE thinks it's hilarious when I tell him to stop. I have to change into lounge clothes when I get home to protect my work clothes from the kids.
Sometimes I'm surprised at this life I've ended up with- I never really chose it, not long term, but I like it.