Apparently, I do some of my best scrapbooking very late at night, and very early in the morning. Who knew?
The journaling reads:
Tickle. (When she walks her fingers up my arms, trying to tickle me)
Bugs! (pointing in horror)
You’re OK. You’re OK. (She comforts anyone who’s sad)
Don’t DO Dat!
No ticklin’ ME.
I need dis ON.
COWS! (gleefully pointing)
Pannacakes ‘n Sawop
I need sunscream.
Dass enough, Mommy! (as she fills a cup with water)
Hug? (when she knows she’s been naughty)
I’m stwong. (as she hauls a gallon of juice from the fridge)
Mommy. NO. SINGING. (when she wants to hear music in the car)
I want some o’yours.
Wide. (I want a ride)
My shouldah. (patting)
Yuv you, Mommy.
I’ant a Bandaid!
Woe, woe, woe…. (Row, row, row)
No. NO, Daddy, NO. (scolding)
Color ON PAYPAH.
Dis my babing soup. (bathing suit)
Alice, where are your shoes? Obediah.