It's impossible to make french onion soup and not feel like I'm 16 and working at Sir Ben's again - shilling beer to the regulars and getting a lifetime of bluegrass music in 5 summer's worth of Thursday nights. It must be the smell; the place reeked of onions and wood and stale pints of kayak kolsch. But then, I should state for the record that they called their soup English Onion; same ingredients, just more pretention.
After at least a weeklong string of nights that featured our kids babbling to each other for at least 40 minutes after bedtime, I think we have to face some facts: our nighttime schedule is about to be extinct.
That's the bad news.
On the good side of things, it does not seem to be affecting us in any way, since the girls are perfectly happy to still go to bed at 7, but now they just happily yap back and forth from their cribs until Lily falls asleep. Lily always goes first. We usually notice that her contributions become fewer and fewer until they disappear entirely. Abby always soldiers on, though; I imagine she is sitting back down at this point, conversing with the monkey she sleeps with. After 40 to 60 minutes, the pauses get longer and her comments more incoherent, even by Abby standards, until finally, sweet sweet silence.
This seems to be a transition time. I imagine that the near future will see us having to bump them back to 7:30 or 8:00 bedtimes. Yikes. There goes an hour of time to get things done. But then, here comes an hour more with the kids. The yin and yang of parenting: always the good with the bad.
Day two hundred and ninety six.
I wish two things. The first is to listen to them talking. I bet that is adorable. The second is to have some of that soup.....
ReplyDelete