Zip's been impossible to get to bed this last week, and it's been making us all a little cranky. Last night, we resorted to letting him sleep on the couch, because we had fully exhausted our ability to do any better.
Doesn't he know we're just washing dishes, putting away clothes and looking vacantly at computer screens until it's indeed way past our bedtimes? (And you wondered where he'd gotten it?)
So, tonight, we're in the garage looking for some old film reels of Brad's, when he grabs a kite my mom brought back from China, and begins running around the dark yard, saying "Look at how great this flies? Thousands of years of kite design at work here."
I, meanwhile, begin jumping on the trampoline on the lawn, thinking I really ought to be spending more time doing so if I intend to look halfway decent at my baby sister's wedding in four weeks.
At some point, we freeze, both simultaneously aware of Zip's shadow lurking in the back doorway, staring at us sleepy-eyed with a bemused grin, as if he's at last caught us in the act of what we do every night once he's gone to bed.