Wednesday, August 26, 2009
For the last few days, Zoe has been dragging a pink, waterproof drawstring bag around the house. I usually use it for wet things, you know, drippy swimming suits, usually not so drippy cloth diapers, and half eaten jars of baby food.
The bag is straining at the gills, it has 3 medium sized baby dolls in it (all of whom are named Gwyn) and at least 4 miniture dolls, and an odd assorment of baby bottles and pacifiers.
They are her “kids”.
“Kids, you need to pay attention, it is time to get on the airplane, we are going to Mamarcica” (America)
(to me) “Hey, Airplane lady, when does the movie start? My kids are tired”
Sitting at the table, eating her granola and yogurt for breakfast, singing a song… JUMPS up and RUNS to the couch, puts her hand out like a stop sign, and yells “PLAY NICE WITH EACH OTHER, KIDS!!”
“my kids are going to hide while I help you with the dishes, MOM”
“Ugh, my kids are SO tired, but they WONT sleep!”