Little Miss Thing, age 7: “Daddy, guess what I did at school today.”
Me: “Learned to fly?”
LMT: “Incorrect. Minus five points from Griffyndor.”
Me: “Wait. What…?”
Danger Monkey, age 10: “I think I’m Ravenclaw. If Daddy is Griffyndor, what are you?”
LMT: “I’m a dog, so I’m in… DoggyTime.”
DM: “There’s no House called Doggytime at Hogwarts!”
LMT: “You’re not a dog, so we can’t tell you about it.”
Danger Monkey, age 10: “That’s not how Mom does it.”
Me: “Well, she’s not here and I am. It’s a whole new paradigm.”
Little Miss Thing, age 7: “What does paradigm mean?”
DM: “It means he’s not as good at watching us as Mom is.”
If I had to sum up my youngest daughter, I think I’d point out that she fought viciously against practicing piano when she was in lessons, but now that she’s not in lessons she’s spending easily five times the amount of time and effort at the piano voluntarily teaching herself songs by ear (yes, really) and making up silly jingles about poop.
That’s my girl.
Like looking in a mirror.
Very Vocal Viking 