Letters to Holly

Friday, February 24


The school hosted a charity dinner. Well, more like an outreach dinner for the Spanish community. The Spanish teachers hosted this potluck dinner, and we took the deputy. It was his first meal out in a long time, and we knew he'd be somewhat suspicious of new food, but we also knew there'd be enough familiar stuff to at least hold him until we got home. Grapes. Nachos.

INVENTION: If you crunch up salsa chips so a toddler can eat them with a spoon, you create a new chip breakfast cereal: Nach-Os.

He ran around a lot. A lot. Your Sister played teacher-hostess and caught up with former students. I chased the boy. We traded shifts watching him as we snacked, and it became obvious quickly that we'd need to grab dinner once we got home and put him to bed. Our hope was that the bedtime routine would go smoothly since we would be getting home an hour later than normal, and he had burned himself out with the running.

No problem. right?

He was not fine. He was a banshee for two hours after we got home. Not even the usually calming Time Out could get him settled.

Baby schedules are LOCKED IN.

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