Annie’s first words in the morning as Bryan and I enter the room:
“Kitty DIED.”
Asides
where is my mind
Paul said, like, three priceless things on the way home from school today, and I tried so hard to remember them. But now after bedtime, the only one that stuck is, “I let out a biiiig toot.”
mom moment
Mom moment: During Annie’s sick-day-at-work, we left the office once to walk a lap around the Tower in the pretty sunshine. Typically, Annie sneezed as soon as she looked up at the bright sky. Because she was sick, she also ejected two bullet trains of snot. And since I had not had the foresight to bring tissues, I just pinched the whole wad of mucus off her face with my fingers. I smeared them clean on the sidewalk, and dabbled them through the shrubbery to finish the job. I like to think a 19-year-old sophomore witnessed this and learned something about life.
last question
Immediately I have said goodnight and closed the door:
MOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM!
I open the door—Yes?
Annie: What happens if a bear loves eating mustard?
conversations
A: Paul, what’s your favorite thing? To play with at school?
P: A school bus, and a fire truck, and a truck, and a school bus, and a truck.
she has an active imagination
Last words from Annie before nap: “What happens if a changing table has sharp teeth and eats people?”
one more question
“Mom. MOM.”
I’m standing at their door, aiming to close it, 20 minutes past bedtime: “Okay Annie, you can ask me one question.”
“What happens if a bear eats people? With honey on them.”