This week has been crunch time for me. Emails from friends tend to get ignored for a while, the laundry piles up and I don’t get much sleep. I had four articles due this week and another one assigned yesterday.
So, last night after soccer practice and getting kids tucked into bed, I tackled an article and vowed to finish it before I went to bed. About thirty minutes after sitting down, my daughter appeared at my office door. She had been bathed, read to, and was supposed to be listening to a book on tape. (She napped yesterday, so it was really late when she surfaced.) Apparently tonight’s excuse for not staying in bed was a fear of the dark. I told her to go climb in my bed. Dad was out of town.
“It’s dark in there too,” she said.
“I’ll be in there soon,” I told her. “Just give me twenty minutes.”
“How long is twenty minutes?”
“About as long as it takes to watch an episode of Clifford.”
“I can watch Clifford?”
“No, baby. That’s just how long I’ll be. Go lie down and think about an episode of Clifford and then I’ll be done.”
She wasn’t buying it. “It’s still too dark.”
I pointed to the sofa in the living room. “Go lie on the sofa and I can see you from here and you can see me.”
She turned around. “It’s dark in there too.”
She dropped to her hands and knees and crawled over to my feet, barking along the way. (Did I mention she was a puppy all evening that I’d rescued from the pet store, then bathed, then read to?)
So, like all good dogs, she curled up at my feet while I worked and next thing I knew I heard heavy breathing underneath my desk. Twenty minutes later she was still sound asleep when I pulled her out, willing her not to sit up and crack her head, and carried her to bed where she slept like a baby. A baby dog, that is.