I found my daughter Brontë in my bathroom today, clutching her Minnie Mouse blanket around her like a straightjacket.
After staring at the floor for a moment, she flung it open while she made a crazy face.
She glanced at the bathroom mirror to see what effect she was having.
Disappointed, she regrouped into straightjacket position and tried it again.
Meanwhile, her baby sister Bridget stood nearby with a blanket over her head, saying “Ah AH AHHH ” whenever Brontë opened her cape. Like the Count from Sesame Street.
I watched this routine play out several times before curiosity finally got the better of me.
Me: What are you doing?
Brontë: I’m practicing my vampire moves.
Me: I see. Are they getting better?
Brontë (sadly): No, not yet.
Me: Well, can you turn into a bat?
Brontë (sighing): Not YET. I can’t because I don’t have the right food.
Me: What kind of food do you need?
Brontë: I need… milk, spinach, cheese, and pasta. Grandma eats that before turning into a bat. Then she hides in your medicine cabinet.