Harper’s watching so intently that she’s not paying attention to her own candy, which is clutched tight in her palm.
“Looks like that chocolate’s starting to melt,” I say.
Harper shrugs and shoves it in her mouth, getting chocolate all over her hands and face.
“Harper’s going to need a bath,” I say to Ellery. “Want to wait to hear the whole story, or do you want me to call you later?”
“I’ll wait,” Ellery says.
“Ellery, read to me, please.” Harper slides out of her seat.
“Of course I will,” Ellery says.
“Just don’t read Peter Pan without me,” I say. I’ve been reading aloud to Harper since before she was born, and we’ve been reading big chapter books since she was about two. She can’t read at all, but her comprehension is well beyond her age, at least according to Ellery.
“You can listen,” Harper says, her tone and her expression taking on a familiar look of stubbornness. “Ellery does the voices best.”
Ellery winces as she looks over at me. “I’ll help you clean up the kitchen after.”
Listening to Ellery read to my daughter sounds like a lot more fun than cleaning alone. “Fine. But bath first.”
Harper cheers and races for the bathroom, tossing clothes as she goes.
I follow, picking up behind her. Harper’s singing to herself and dancing naked in the bathroom by the time I get there. I run the bath water and plait her curls into two braids, because her hair doesn’t need to be washed tonight. The tangles take less time and tears to work out than I’d expected.
Harper takes the fastest bath I think she’s ever taken in her life and runs naked to her bedroom after I dry her off.
“Get dressed and come back to brush your teeth,” I call after her.
“Not tonight.”
“Yes, tonight. We brush teeth every night. Especially after dessert.”
She flies back in, and I can tell she’s too hyped up to brush her teeth well. I grasp her shoulders and kneel to her level. “Take a slow, deep breath.”
“No,” she shouts. “We need to hurry.”
“No, we don’t. Ellery isn’t going anywhere. She’ll wait for you as long as it takes. Please take a deep breath with me so you can get your teeth sparkly clean.”
She rolls her eyes, something she only started doing last week. “Okay.” Together, we take three deep breaths, and I can see a tiny change in her almost immediately. She’s still excited, but she’s a bit calmer, and that’s enough to get her through brushing her teeth.
I’ll be forever grateful to Brittany Reynolds, owner of the preschool Harper attends and an expert on all things children, for her parenting class where I learned this trick. I make Harper stay in the bathroom long enough to cap the toothpaste and put her toothbrush back where it belongs, but I clean the toothpaste out of the sink while she runs off to get Ellery.
Ellery is most likely curled up on my couch reading, but she won’t keep Harper waiting.
By the time I get to Harper’s room, Harper’s tucked up in bed, looking cozy.
Ellery sits on the bed next to Harper, and I take a seat on the beanbag chair my brother, Asher, got her for her fourth birthday. It’s surprisingly comfortable.
Ellery reads like a trained actor and does all the voices exactly right. The story is a fun one, and I’m in no danger of drifting off by the time she’s finished the chapter. Luckily, Harper’s lids are drooping as Ellery kisses her forehead and leaves.
I hug and kiss Harper. “Sleep tight, baby.”
“Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” she mumbles sleepily. I’m grateful to be blessed with a child who loves sleep as much as I do.
Ellery’s waiting for me in the living room, sitting on the edge of the couch. “Okay, spill,” she says.
So I do. I tell her all about Mrs. Simms, Aiden, and the scholarship program.
