We have a tall basket-hamper in our bedroom filled with an assortment of twin sheets that currently fit none of the beds in our house. So they’re free game for Will and Owen, who both take great joy in pulling the sheets out, dragging them around the house, building forts with them and on and on.
The other day as Will and Owen were giggling madly and rolling themselves up in the sheets while I folded clothes in the bedroom, I couldn’t help but offer a few words of caution to Will.
“Make sure Owen can breathe,” I said as I looked at my rolling, sheet-encloaked baby.
“It’s ok, mom,” Will said. “Owen’s breathing. He’s still alive.”
Here’s a photo of Will wearing one of the fitted sheets as a headdress while he dines on an omelet.