Brinley asks me to give her a new name. Without much thought, I say, “Ok, Evelayla”. Delighted, she then decides to make up a new name for me. “I’ll call you… Daddy… Good… Dad.”

“Where’s French?” Brin asks, as we’re on our way to the airport to pick up a friend.

“French?”

“Yeah! It’s the same as bread,” she says, looking out the window as we pass power lines atop structures that look like the Eiffel Tower.

“Ah! France. That’s across the ocean.”

Today Sarah and the kids were driving past a farm when Brin said, “I’d like to go to a farm someday and squeeze a cow’s butt.”

Sarah: “Okaaaay, why do you wanna do that?”

Brin: “To get their milk out!”

“Mommy, don’t look over here!” Brinley says, after dumping pasta onto the ground. Sarah of course turns around to find Brin scrambling to pick up the pasta.

“And don’t tell Daddy.” she says.

Sarah asks, “Why not?”

Brinley, assuming a deep Daddy voice, “Because he’ll say, ‘Brinley, why did you do that?'”