Dear Pooks,

You decided to take matters into your own hands this morning. Maybe you knew how reluctant I’d be about getting out of bed at 7:30 when you’d gotten me up at 2:00 and at 6:00. But instead of playing quietly in your room or climbing into bed with me and Daddy, you trotted downstairs and turned the TV on so you could watch “a little bit of Noggin.”

To your credit, you then came back upstairs to get me out of bed. I guess you could’ve just stayed downstairs by yourself, and I wouldn’t have known it until I woke up and decided to check on you. But you did want me down here; you didn’t need me to change the channel, because it was already on Noggin, but you needed me to turn the volume down. I know how much you hate loud noises.

Once you got me down here, you asked for a drink. Instead of your usual apple juice, I decided to see if you wanted to try the Strawberry Banana V-Fusion juice. When I showed you the bottle and told you what it was, you gave me quite a chuckle by saying, “It’s my favorite, favorite, favorite apple juice!”

So thanks for the laugh, but in the future, don’t come downstairs by yourself. You know you’re not supposed to touch the TV.

Love,
Sleepy Mommy

Dear Kid Thursday

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Christina Gleason (976 Posts)

That’s me: Christina Gleason. I’m a writer, editor, and disability advocate. I'm a multiply disabled autistic lady doing my best in this world built for abled people. I’m a geek for grammar, fantasy, and casual gaming. I hate vegetables. I cannot reliably speak, so I’ll happily conduct business over email or messaging instead.


By Christina Gleason

That’s me: Christina Gleason. I’m a writer, editor, and disability advocate. I'm a multiply disabled autistic lady doing my best in this world built for abled people. I’m a geek for grammar, fantasy, and casual gaming. I hate vegetables. I cannot reliably speak, so I’ll happily conduct business over email or messaging instead.

2 thoughts on “Dear Kid Saturday – Saturday Morning Initiative”
  1. Oh my gosh, the memories!

    My Little Guy pulled a similar stunt when he was about 18 months old. He’d always been a painfully early riser (painful for me, at least) but this particular morning was even earlier than usual. Heaven knows how long he’d been bumping about before a clatter finally woke me. I went in the kitchen and there he was, his bubble butt on the counter and his chubby hand on the glass cookie jar lid.

    Nice work, Little Guy. Now, don’t ever do it again.

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