better than a poke in the eye

Tonight, after the boys had their baths, we all piled into Henry's bed (which is a double bed, thank god, though we barely fit anyway) to read On the Day You Were Born. For those of you not familiar with this lovely book, it is an environmentalist welcome to the new baby which seems to assume both that the mommy gave birth naked in a tub of warm water with the help of a midwife but without any drugs, and that said new baby will be swaddled solely in unbleached cotton diapers, washed by hand in water cleansed of all additives and impurities. This so does NOT describe either of my childbirth or diapering experiences. And yet we love this book with all our hearts.

So we're reading the book, having a wonderful time pointing to the various gingerbread-like babies on each page to decide which is Henry and which is Charlie (they all look alike, people, but the boys are very determined that some are one and some the other. Yes, they are odd, those kids of mine)--we're reading the book, as I said, when, for no clear reason, Charlie starts to cry.

'Ouch! My eye!' he yells, dramatically.

Wade looks at him and says, 'Did you put your finger in it?'

'Yes,' Charlie admits sadly.

'Well, I bet that hurt.' And he keeps reading.

We finish the book, and Wade carts Charlie off to his own room while Henry and I read one more book. Again, I hear Charlie say, 'OUCH! MY EYE!'

And Wade says, 'Stop putting your finger in it.'

'Okay, Daddy. Goodnight!'

And Henry says to me, 'Stop laughing and read.'