“Dad!” says Brinley. “I’m trying to get over there, but that sassy girl is in the way.”
I look down to where she’s pointing at our cat Regan, sitting there calmly.
Brinley chooses a book for bedtime.
“Let’s do the one where the bunny has Germans in her tummy.”
Brinley asking the real questions:
“Dad, why do we need undies in this land?”
Apropos of nothing, Brinley asks, “Dad, can you tell me how ducks hiccup?”
“Hey Brin, what would you like for lunch?”
“A cream cheese sandwich with pickles, stars, and dust.”
We’re unpacking the garage when Brinley asks Sarah, “Mom, can we set up some ant traps now?“
“Um, not right now, Brin.”
Brin, sadly: “That means later. Later means tomorrow. Tomorrow means next week.”
“I’m not even talking, and I’m talking zero words!” says Brin, talking.
Brinley struts out of the house in nothing but undies and shoes.
“I’m wearing my naked dress!”
I pick some cereal from a high shelf as requested by Brin.
“Thanks, Dad! You’re the heaviest one ever.”
Brinley asks Mommy, “Was packing boring?”
Sarah responds, “Well, it wasn’t my favorite. Did you like packing?”
“No!” says Brin. “It was like juggling a watermelon and putting it in your mouth.”