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Ann is a night person. She has been since the day she was born, not wanting to go to bed at night nor get up in the morning. At about the age of two or three, Ann was prone to getting out of her toddler bed and walk around upstairs. As soon as I'd hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet, I knew something was up, and I'd race up the stairs to see what her latest antic was. On one particular night, I'd caught her trying to flush her blanket down the toilet and try to brush her teeth with liquid soap. I put her back to bed and told her to stay there. She looked up at me with the most angelic eyes and nodded. I should've known better. I went back downstairs and settled myself on the couch. Ann was in bed, hopefully, and would go to sleep. As soon as I turned on the television to watch some show with my husband, we heard it. The familiar pitter-patter. She was the youngest, and the other two had already conked out for the night. I knew it was Ann. I ran up the stairs as fast as I could, figuring she may have tried the new toothpaste out of a soap dispenser, to find her carrying two small paper cups of water toward her room. "Ann!" I said. "What are you doing?" "I'm keeping my knees clean. I figured they got dirty at night, so I'm cleaning them while I sleep." "With cups of water?" "Yes." She headed toward her room, then took the two full cups of water and poured them on the bed where her knees would be. My mouth fell open. She climbed into her bed, rolled onto her stomach to make sure her knees met the now-pools of water, and smiled. "Good night." "Uh..." I guess it was time to change the sheets anyway. |
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