Life with zombies

Last night after the family extravaganza during which a Dairy Queen cake was maimed and then driven to our house, where it now sits in critical condition in our freezer, Lyla got to bed 90 minutes late. Julie and I then concluded, based on our entire year of parenting experience and the logic that courses through our brains, that Lyla would sleep in for approximately (any guesses?) 90 minutes.

She didn't. Lyla has her own ideas of what makes sense, and what made sense to her this morning was to lose her binky and scream at 4:27, and then fall back asleep until only 6:17. It was Julie's day to wake up with Lyla, but I squinted my eyes open as she sat up in bed. She sensed I was feigning sleep and said miserably, "I never got back to sleep. I've been up since 4:30." If anyone ever does a Twilight spin-off with zombies instead of vampires, a sleepless Julie could play the female lead.

So I got up with Lyla because I am a good person and also because I do not like spending Sunday interacting with a flesh-eating, undead wife. Lyla and I ate Kix and yogurt, and then we read books. Lyla is getting more and more into books; she'll grab one and say "Buh!" and then you have to read it to her or she'll say "AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

That makes Lyla sound like a zombie, too, doesn't it?


"Buh! AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" We're still working on "please."