Jingle Bells

There's a shelf above Clio's bed where we have stacked all the quilts that were made for her upon her birth, and for some reason, I long ago topped them with the growing collection of not-very-practical shoes that have been gifts along the way: the little red leather cowboy boots from a former colleague, the red satin and feather dragon-shoes Connor brought back from China, some patchwork-velvet slippers trimmed with rick rack that Bonnie sent in her Big Sister package, and this pair of Mary Janes that Brian and Maud brought back from a trip to Thailand about a year ago.
With the change from crib to a big girl bed, Clio can now access this shelf, and has become very interested in these shoes. In fact, she puts the thai slippers on before she falls asleep, and we generally find her after her nap or in the morning, still wearing them. Conveniently, they have little bells on the straps and we can hear her padding around, not unlike the effect of a bell on a dog collar.

Last night, while Dave and I were watching Top Chef in my birthday-inspired desire for a TV stupor, we heard a noise upstairs (which turned out to be a doorknob turning) followed by a little tinkle tinkle tinkle, and we looked up to see Clio at the top of the stairs. When she saw us looking up, she dissolved into tears. I had been waiting for the day that she figured out how to get out of her room at night, and apparently last night she found her motivation: the button had ripped off the side of her right slipper, and she wanted it fixed, now. Dave and I traded smiles and he went up to get her back into bed; it was this very sweet little moment where I felt very united in the fact that we are the parents, both of us, together.