Sugar and spice and everything nice—*snort*

Tucking the girls into their bunkbeds—DynaGirl’s on top.

Mom:  Goodnight, sweetheart.

DynaGirl:  Good—Achoooooooo!—night.

Mom, trying to clean the spray off her face:  Eeew!  You got it all over.

DynaGirl, chuckling:  Sorry, Mom.

Goose, laughing hysterically from bottom bunk:  I wish I had done that!

I can see the little wheels spinning in Goose’s head—I’m giving some serious thought to wearing a face mask to tuck-in time for the next couple of weeks.

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BigHugs bit me yesterday afternoon. At 11:30 pm that night:

BigHugs, snuggling up with Mom: You have a purple owie?

Mom:  I think it’s better.

BigHugs:  It’s all beh-wer now?

Mom:  Yeah, it’s OK.  It doesn’t hurt.

BigHugs:  I sowee I eat your arm, Mom.

Mom:  It’s OK, sweetie.  It doesn’t hurt anymore.

BigHugs:  I sowee I eat your arm at sham-tasicks.

Mom:  It’s OK, BigHugs.  Just don’t bite anymore, OK?

BigHugs:  O-kay.

It’s actually quite reassuring to know that my 2 year old is capable of feeling unsolicited remorse.

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Helping DynaGirl dry off after a shower.

Mom:  What are you doing?

DynaGirl:  I’m flaring my butt cheeks.

Mom:  Flaring?

DynaGirl:  Yeah, you know, like when I flare my nostrils?

Mom:  chuckling

DynaGirl:  What?  What else would you call it?

Mom:  I don’t know, maybe clenching?

I think maybe I like “flaring” better.  I imagine she’d make a pretty awesome fitness instructor.