sidewalk scribbling

There aren't that many things cuter than your 4-year-old fast asleep in bed, with a basket of cars perched in the middle of his duvet and the recently gifted toy traffic light blinking red, orange and green on his still round cheeks. Z has now reached that stage I used to think about wistfully when patting him back to sleep for the 3rd time in the night - the stage of falling asleep in his own room and then at some point, often after 5am (say what no way!?), padding into our room, holding on to one or four cuddly toys. I lift our duvet and he climbs in next to me, digging his heels into my stomach and then luck dictates whether we get to snooze all cute and cosy for a bit or get elbowed in the face with demands for breakfast, or my phone, which Z loves to record the most absurdly hilarious voice notes on. I know I say it about every age (while also secretly thinking how did I manage the earlier, less independent stage...), but four year olds are pretty great. I can now go for a s