An announcement from Tate:
(Because 99% of all speech directed toward me begins with "Mom!")
"I've made a discovery! Blinking doesn't just get water into your eyes! It's also like windshield wipers!" (He motions with his fingers, in front of his eyes.)
I'm nodding in agreement as his hearing aid is out and he's in his bed.
"I know, because I got a bunch of sawdust in my eyes today," (don't ask), "and I've been blinking," (really?), "and it's all turned into big eye goobers!"
I dare not ask what he's done with the big eye goobers, but I make a mental note to wash his jammies in the morning.
I just nod my head in amazement, smile encouragingly, and back slowly out of the room.