Abby Doesn't Like Potatoes

Those of you that have spent any time with Steve know he has an unhealthy fascination with saying the word "potato" with an Irish accent.

I don't know exactly what went on ten minutes prior to my returning with dinner tonight. But Steve was singing:

Oh Abby
You came to my life
with potatoes
and I want you to know
Oh Abby


and Abby was trying to bring the madness to an end by saying:

Daddy stop saying I like potatoes, I don't like potatoes, I don't eat potatoes.
Daddy you keep talking about this potatoes and I don't want you to anymore, it makes me nervous.
Daddy, I do not have any potato gardens, and I want you to stop saying that I do because I do not.
Mommy, tell Daddy your daughter does not eat potatoes.
You like potatoes.

Say it with me...

Awwwwwh.

Jack in the Mirror

We Need to Have a Little Talk

This is how Abby gets me back into her room after I've said goodnight. It's hard to resist - one because it's cute, and two because it sounds so serious, and three because sometimes it IS serious. Granted, sometimes she wants to talk about how she can't possibly wear Tuesday's socks on Thursday. Sometimes she's concerned God is going to flood the earth. Sometimes she wants to talk to me about something she's embarrassed to talk about normally. Sometimes she doesn't have anything at all to say and has to try to make it up on the fly when I get there. Often it's about itches I can do so little about.

Infuriating at times? Yes. Heartwrenching too? Very. Hilariously funny? Pretty much.

Oh well.

Moods

h

It would be a sarcastic statement any other time in life, but right now, I'm being perfectly honest: Sunday was a great Jack day... except for all the screaming.



Abby is big into dancing - for Jack, with her dolls, with me, all by herself.

The Name is Jack...

Abby's Friday Afternoon

After a very fun day with Poppa, Abby set her hopes on Gramma's arrival and insisted on waiting outside with a book.