Cozy time

Frankie has somehow evolved from a child who preferred waking in the pre-dawn hours when only garbage men and vampires are roaming the street, to a child who sleeps until at least eight o'clock. Now before we have high-fives all around, lets not forget that I have another child. Another child who has an internal alarm clock of six o'clock. At least the sun is rising by then and you don't have to make cinnamon toast while faced with the specter of your kitchen windows displaying complete blackness. But there is one upside, and that is the time Dean or I gets to spend with Molly Jo one on one. We do puzzles and talk about the dreams she had ("Butterflies. Were flying. Catch them. My hands."), make breakfast requests ("Toast. Peanut Butter. And honey. No jelly. No peanut butter. No honey. Jus' bread.") and snuggle, as above.