Sunday Morning Coffee

Most weekend mornings I get up with Miranda; she tends to ignore me less. This morning, we got up around 7:00 (late for her), did milk, then breakfast, then I made coffee (Miranda did not make the coffee; she is not quite as adept, or tall, as Carter, but he's got like 18 months and a foot on her, so it's cool). So, we ended up playing in Miranda's room. Since we opened up the house a little more to our increasingly mobile one, her new gig is to take Mama or Dada by the finger to the kitchen, to the bathroom, to her room, to the living room, to the kitchen, to her room, etc. Oh did I mention that I just got over a head cold and spent yesterday three hours on the lawn, er, weeds, and ran six miles for the first time since Tuesday (head cold, see)? Wee bit on the rundown end (and sore). Anyway, we were in Miranda's room, she likes to look at her Dr. Seuss books, usually upside down, and I was dozing off on the futon, so she comes over, grabs my finger, takes me into the hall, past our room, doesn't ask for Mama, takes me all the way through the living room, past books and toys, to the kitchen, and places me before a full pot of coffee.

Perceptive girl. She's got Dada's back.