something's up with my girlies three lately. all they want to eat is salami for breakfast, lunch, afternoon snack, and dinner. plus i now routinely shake down esmé before bed because i'm quite sure she's hiding a circle or two no matter how many times she tells me she's not.
her lie face stinks.
this morning, i cut grae's salami sandwich into about twenty tiny squares. she'd chipped a tooth last night while wrestling with uncle sugar and her sisters, and i thought it'd still be a little touchy. of course, i'd warned them all only five minutes before.
mom always said, don't play ball in the house.
grae was pleased. i never use that word, but there's no other for her fleeting look of surprise slash genuine gratitude slash sheer contentment.
no matter how old we grow, it's lovely when someone spends an extra moment on us, yes?
i make an awesome breakfast, don't i? i bragged, knowing full well that they don't even trust me to toast their poptarts.
when you were in california, grae said, daddy made us french toast, bacon, omelets, and eggs any way we wanted them.
of course he did.
then she looked at the sandwich i'd carefully cut and arranged in a remedial smiley-faced sort of a set-up, and gave me smile that could turn a blue moon white.
this is better.
her lie face is amazing.