“Fiona, back off, please. Baby, I need some space!” I say with frustration.
“Mama, you need a rocket ship?” She asks innocently, climbing into my lap.
Why Fiona got three cookies:
“Mama, I have cookie?”
“No, Fiona, you’ve just had two cookies. How many cookies does one little girl need?”
“What’s going to happen in this story?”
“He’s going to stomp down the tower.”
“Oh, who’s going to?”
“The three little oinkies.”
“I all growed up. I as big as Grammy. I huge. I seventeen.”
When the power when out, “Mama, the light is broken. We need fix it. We need battery.”