Gon Out. Backson.

Ian and I have slowly been making our way through Winnie the Pooh. Slowly, because I’m not as dedicated as I should be, and because the chapters are longer than Ian’s attention span.

We’ve been reading in Mommy and Daddy’s bed. It’s bigger, snugglier, and can support the weight. But Kelly and I have been exercising, so now I’m willing to climb Ian’s ladder and ignore the creaks.

Last night, Rabbit was trying to discover where Christopher Robin went in the mornings, and why he went there with a Spotted and Herbaceous Backson. Ian had an arm around Mater and an arm around Chicky, and was twirling his fingers in my hair. I kept glancing at him to see if he was paying attention—Rabbit uses big words—and I’d catch him tracing outlines on the wall or looking at the stars on his ceiling or picking his nose.

But he was being quiet, which, for a three-year-old, is paying attention.

In the middle of Eeyore’s lecture to Piglet about the importance of education and the letter ‘A’, Ian put his head on my chest. I stopped paying attention to the story, too.