17 March 2008

The New Yorker

Two nights ago, Julia and I went up to do our bedtime ritual. We brushed teeth and washed face and hands, took out all the do-dads from the hair and had a good brushing. Then, we went to bed to read. We had finished two of Julia's "reading" books when she said that she wanted to go back to the bathroom and poop. Pooping might as well be called sitting on the potty and hanging out for a long time. She likes me to hang out with her.

I grabbed a New Yorker and sat on the side of the tub. Julia asked for a magazine too and pionted to the newest New Yorker with a flowery picture -- the style issues -- on the cover. We sat companionably and looked at our magazines. Julia was not content to sit and look, she pointed out -- "Look, Mommy, look" -- the cartoons, the pictures of resorts with very nice pools, and the fashion -- "Mommy, costumes." She did not approve of the black-eyed eye makeup and thought the dark almost brown lipstick was "Ucky!" One day, Julia will get to the articles.

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