Aletheia has started dreaming. Last night, she had a dream that a baby skeleton was eating her toes. Gods, that’s terrifying.
Tag: aletheia
Aletheia is giving me grief for not putting up xmas lights on the house. So this is how it begins.
Aletheia’s new favorite way to begin a sentence is “Well, actually…”
Aletheia: Daddy, you’re going to die.
Me: Quite likely.
Aletheia: But I won’t be sad.
Me: No?
Aletheia: Because I’ll make you alive again.
(I know what she’s going as for Halloween this year.)
Aletheia: Trump is not good. We should put him in timeout.
Me: Why?
Aletheia: He’s not listening. He’s not telling a good story.
Aletheia: Daddy, how were your meetings today?
Me: They went well.
Aletheia: Did you have a lot of friends at your meetings?
Me: Actually, yes. Yes I did.
Aletheia: Daddy, why are you still up?
Me: Email.
Aletheia: But daddy, you need to go to bed. You need rest.
Me: I know, but sometimes daddy needs to get extra work done.
Aletheia: Well, you can do that tomorrow.
Me: …
Aletheia: Tomorrow is Thursday.
To myself: Goddammit.
Aletheia: Daddy, do you want me to be happy?
Me: Well, no, that’s asking a bit too much, dear. But I do want you to have a full life.
Aletheia: [Blank stare. Then tears.]
I probably shouldn’t consider existential questions when I’m around my daughter.
Aletheia: I need a yoga mat.
Me: why do you need a yoga mat?
Aletheia: so I can do downward dog.
Me: ok.
Aletheia: and my booty dance.
Me: ok.
That didn’t take long
Aletheia: Where is M’s birthday party?
Me: It’s in Beverly Hills.
Aletheia: Is it far away?
Me: Not too far.
Aletheia: There will be traffic?
[Oh dear, Los Angeles has her now.]