Crumbs

As Gillian fills my bedroom with the aroma of Vicks and the sound of Darth Vader with a chest cold (and insomnia for me), I am reflecting on a happier scene a few days ago.

I use to think Barney was the spawn of Satan. But, as nauseating sticky sweet as it is (what with all those Elysian cheeky-smiling, well mannered, polite, and respectful children), there is something to be said for teaching my daughter this:


There are worse things than a saccharine display of adoration by your devoted (at least in that particular moment) toddler.