Unprompted, Griffin announced in the car tonight that he wants to grow up to be either a musician or an illustrator. (I’ll include a post soon with some of the pictures he’s drawn in his new notebook; he’s very excited about it.)
Maggie proceeded to announce that she wants to be one of three things: a dolphin trainer, a singer, or a dancer.
(For comparison, see what Griffin said in
2013 and both of them in 2016.)
While reading the chapter on the battle of Helm’s Deep in the
Lord of the Rings last night, Maggie exclaimed, “Whoa! The walls are 20 feet tall!”
“I know! That’s almost as tall as our house,” I replied, thrilled at her level of engagement.
“Yeah. . . . Did you know that dogs eat their own poop? And rabbits do too?”
This gem from Maggie while the family shared a few fancy desserts from Whole Foods, in her most matter-of-fact voice:
“You should try this one next. Even though it
looks like throw-up in the middle, it tastes like lemon!”
This just overheard from the living room:
Maggie: “Griffin! You can’t have that on the couch…
Maggie will surely die if you don’t come down this instant to eat our breakfast!!!!!
— Text message from Sarah this morning
PS: Yeah, we text each other across the house.
Maggie, after scratching a scab this morning:
Maggie: Luckily I have another pair of skin!
M: I had another pair of skin under my scab, so it’s not bleeding.
M: I have
three pairs of skin.
D: Three? Pairs of skin?
M: Yes. If I scratch off one pair, then there’s another pair. If I scratch off that one, then there’s a third pair. But under the
third pair is my blood.
Maggie, musing about why she loves the cabin:
I love the cabin.
When we want someone to come out,
we don’t have to go find them…
We can just yell!
Conversation this afternoon:
Me: Did Mama talk to you about the rules?
Me: What were the rules?
Maggie: Um… I forgot. <shrugs> I forget things very quickly.
Even a plastic blade requires regular cleaning, of course.
Overheard last night before bed:
Sarah: “No, I can’t clean your sword right now. It’s past your bedtime.”
Maggie: “Ok, we’ll clean my sword in the morning.”
(The sword is drying in the dish rack as I write this.)
I was helping settle Oliver into his crib when Maggie got up to get a drink of water. She got back into bed, then sat up and stated, matter-of-factly, “I don’t believe Jesus rose from the dead.”
She repeated herself, enunciating carefully, “I don’t believe that Jesus rose from the dead.”
“Ok honey. Goodnight.”