A few weeks back, I vowed to reinstate a lost bedtime ritual with Katie.
Nearly every night since, we have curled together in her darkened room and listened for the angels.
A couple of days ago, we were laying together on her bed, chatting about the day. Just before turning the lights out, she … well … um … er … let one rip. Loudly.
I looked at her with feigned indignation, barely suppressing my laugh.
She reflected the exact same look right back at me.
And then she said, “I can’t believe the angels just farted!”
(ed note: Sorry, Mom)