I've always loved bedtime with my kids.
There's something cozy and tender and precious about those few moments after the bedtime story and our goodnight rituals are finished.
When they were babies, I found those moments some of the most peaceful and relaxing.
Now that they're older, those are the moments I often fall in love with them all over again.
Even after rough days when all of my patience has been exhausted, I often find myself lingering just another minute, or two, or five, to enjoy those last few minutes of the day before they slip off to sleep, looking so young and vulnerable and sweet.
Sometimes, especially after rough days.
And so it was tonight.
Ashley and I are in the midst of a week-long effort (aka battle) to get her room clean. The combination of her stubbornness and distractibility and my slow recovery from strep throat is not creating the ideal environment for success. We've both been frustrated and angry with each other several times over the last few days.
But tonight after our bedtime routine, we snuggled, we talked, we giggled a little.
And suddenly in place of the child who was trampling all over my very last nerve was my feisty, too-smart-for-her-own-good little Ash-a-boo, who gets the cutest little wrinkle in her nose when she smiles.
Yes, I love bedtime with the kids.