Brin gazes out her car window and says in a wistful voice, “Air is the most thing.”
Micah is drawing with chalk on the sidewalk. He looks up and asks, “Does this look mighty fun?”
The kids are both shooting some hoops in the driveway. Brin’s taking up space in the lane, so four-year-old Micah tells her, “I need to get a shot here, bro.”
“Wow, it’s hot, Dad!” says Micah after opening the front door. “It feels like a hundred gurrees.”
Micah wins two games of Sequence in a row. In exultation he stands, raises his hands over his head, and says, “I’m a masterpiece!”
At 7:45 am Brinley laments being so hungry. “I haven’t had breakfast all day!”
“Hey Micah, are you going to eat any more of this cupcake?”
“No, I’m full.”
“Ok, I’m just going to toss it then.”
Micah looks confused.
“Where are you going to toss it?”
“Go get me a blueberry sauce,” Micah demands.
“Oops!” I say. “You forgot the magic word.”
He thinks for a beat, twirls his finger, and says, “Bippity boppity boo.“
Micah is frustrated and crying when Brinley won’t share a toy with him. When Grandpa suggests that they play air hockey together instead, Micah says, “I don’t want to play air hockey! I will kick it in the face.”
It’s February, and out of the blue Brinley gasps and says, “What if Santa is Jesus?!”