the notebook(s)

A few months ago, I bought 2 cheap spiral-bound notebooks (yes, yes, I know, baby trees were clubbed to death in China to make those notebooks. Don't care)

One is lurid pink, the other dead black. For the Princess and Mr 10.

What we do with them is this:

every couple of days, I'll write a letter to the child, and hide the notebook under their pillow.
When they get into bed at night, they find the notebook, and you wouldn't believe the delight on their faces!
(I know, because I sometimes hide nearby and watch)
Then they sneak out of bed, scribble busily in the book, and creep to my room to hide the notebook under my pillow. They are not very good at creeping. Mostly they hover at the edge of my line of sight from the lounge, then they'll make a sudden dash for my door when they think I'm distracted.

It's all great fun!

Sometimes Daddy writes in the book, too, and then they don't know whose pillow to hide the book under.

There's no great literature going on here. I tell them how proud I am of something they achieved that day, or how nice it was to have them around, or some small thing. They thank me, or just tell me they love me. Mr 10s replies can be quite --- shall we say, to the point? "thanks" or "same"..... but they're precious, anyway.

There's lots of good reasons to do this -- the kids have visual proof that I was thinking about them in the day (not that they really think I wouldn't); it gives them reading and writing practice; it involves them in some secret, family memory...

... but mostly, it's about me.

I want my kids to look back on their childhood, "Mum was kinda weird, but she sure was a lot of fun!"