7:30 p.m. -- a face full of popscicle stickiness -- she says, "I think it's bath night."
Who are we to argue?
8:10 p.m. -- Scrubbed, detubbed and encased in "PEE-JAMMAS," she brushes her teeth to the inner sounds of Black Eyed Peas.
8:13 p.m. -- Squeezed into bed next to her truck-driving dad (I had NO IDEA he could fit in her toddler bed) I enter her room to the sounds of them singing "Old MacDonald Had A Farm" and she sits straight up. She tells me I'm the "bestest mommy I ever had." She turns to her daddy and says "I like you, too."
8:30 p.m. -- Three books, one hot water bottle and a glass of water later we're on the couch -- multi-tasking. He's checking his e-mail and contemplating the night's offerings on HBO. I'm knitting and checking the forums online.
9 p.m. -- I wrestle the remote from his stubborn hands and choose "Bee Season."
10 p.m. -- He kisses my forehead and says: "I hate these people. I'm going to bed."