Ian crawls into bed very late some nights after his shifts at the bar. Consequently, the following mornings I usually try to deflect the kids' attention and energy from our room, where they normally like to snuggle and wrestle in bed with the two of us and the two dogs. (We really need a king-sized bed. This queen thing is barely cuttin' it.)
This morning was no exception. Leaving Ian and the dogs to slumber in peace, I followed Nolan's morning "Mommy! Mommy!" whimpers into the kids' room, where his little mouse voice pleaded, "Snuggle, Mommy! Snuggle!" Sean climbed down from the top bunk to join us for a little cuddle time before I got up to make the coffee. (Yes, I'm sorta back on coffee. I drink it a few mornings a week; but the majority of the time I stick to my PG Tips tea with milk.) He might be almost seven years old, but he still loves his cuddles with mom.
As he descended the ladder and hit the floor, he looked at Nolan's bed and exclaimed with an embarassed tone: "Mommy!"
"What?" I couldn't imagine what I had done.
"You're so short your feet don't even reach the end of the bed! You are SO SHORT."
"Yes, I am. And that's one of the reasons you love me, right?"
"Yeah. But seriously, Mom. I can't BELIEVE how SHORT you are."
I never really think of myself as short, though. Only when I'm trying to reach something in a high cabinet, or when I have to move the driver's seat up after Ian's been in my car. Or when I want to buy a long-sleeve shirt that isn't petite, and the damn arms hang down to my knees.
I don't mind. At least my abbreviated height will always keep my kids laughing, which is one of my priorities in life anyway.