Little Sam fell asleep in the baby swing this morning while Aline was gardening and I was checking on laundry. As I was coming upstairs and out to the deck I could see he was leaning over precariously close to falling. And then he tipped further. Both Aline and I rushed over and caught the swing before he slid out.
Crisis averted.
(Though Aline wants it noted for the record that she didn’t know I had popped inside and would have been watching him more closely if she had known I wasn’t there.)
Shortly afterwards, I’m lying in the hammock beneath guarding him and the hammock falls.
Aline says: Oh, it’s you. I thought it was Sam.
After a minute, she asks: Are you OK?
It’s clear that I’m number four on the depth chart of love around here.
One dark night the Gruffalo’s child disobeys her father’s warnings and ventures out into the snow.
