When you say good morning, you’d better mean it!

My morning started out busy, getting everyone out, with all the assorted doo-dads they needed. But now I am being very quiet, feeling the fever roll through my bloodstream like the tide. Phil will be home for lunch hopefully by then I will have coaxed or threatened Juliet and Pippa into cleaning their room. Johann is sitting on my lap, wanting Down! in the worst way. He has discovered the wonders of perambulation under his own power and he is aching to explore the office. It isn’t going to happen, of course. Way too much stuff on the floor in here – cables, boxes, chairs and books. His jolly jumper hangs from one beam and even that is hard to keep him away from things he can reach.
I was reminded yesterday of something Pippa did a while back. Phil had gotten up early one morning – about 4, I think – and was headed back upstairs when Pippa came out of her room. He said “Good Morning, now go back to bed!” and she got very upset with him because he had said it was morning, so it must be time to get up. Never tell a three year-old good morning unless you mean it.