picking up the daily grind

Last night, Rhiannon and I were both resting on the couch after supper. Brooklynn was playing with some blocks on living room floor. I don't know what popped into her head, but she stood up, went over to her toy shelves, and grabbed her purse. She walked back over, grabbed a pair of shoes, put them on, and stood up. She slung the purse over her arm, looked around the room, and announced she was going to work.

"Work. Work. Me. Work."

Ok, I told her go to work.

She walked over to the garage door, opened it, stood there for a few seconds, let the door close, and marched back over.

"Work. All gone. Me home."

Welcome home, Brooklynn. I asked how her day was. She answered it was good, put down the purse, and grabbed one of her bouncy balls.

"Game. Me. Game." And she headed back toward the door. Rhiannon plays softball, so she is used to someone packing up and having to go to games after work.

Back she came. The game was good. She took off her shoes, headed to her kitchen, and proceeded to cook some supper. I was served pan fried strawberries, fries, and a hamburger bun.

She looked at Rhiannon who was half napping, sat on the floor, took off her shoes, and let out a big sigh as if to announce she was tired after her long day.

You and me both, kid. You and me both.