Peabody: "Yeah, I get dat in Sunday 'chool."
Me: "Really? In Sunday school?"
P: "Yeah."
Me: "Who is your teacher in Sunday school?"
P, jabbing me with her finger: "You are! You are my teacher."
Me: "That's right!"
P: "An' you teach me to roll over, and 'peak."
Hmmm. Sunday school, obedience school ... girl, dog ... tomayto, tomahto.
Peabody preparing to feed her baby doll: "I gi' her a bean burrito wis no onions. Babies don' like onions."
"I tan't wait for Daddy to come home! He is nice. And 'mart, like me."
I was exasperated one day.
"Honey, are you mad?" Peabody asked, squinting up at me quizzically.
"No," I sighed.
"Are you air-a-tated?" she persisted.
The girls were playing outside in their wading pool and sprinkler. After a while a soaking wet Peabody came over to me: "Honey, can I sit on your lap?"
"No," I replied.
"But I like to," she pleaded, "you are my favorite mommy."
She is fascinated with the concept of a baby in my stomach. "Is the baby going to be born?" she asks daily. We look at drawings on a pregnancy website sometimes. "I wanna see the picture of the baby," she asks several times a day. "I wanna see the picture of the baby in the 'tomach." She says she wants a baby brother named Woody Baby (Toy Story is never far from her mind.)
"I all done!" she declared upon finishing her dinner.
"Good eating, Peabody," her daddy told her.
"You're welcome," she replied.
"Honey, on Tuesday, and Monday, ants and spiders are crawling everywhere. And termites!" At least they are limited to only two days a week.
She fits perfectly in a dress that my Mamaw made for me when I was this age! Ah, the mid 1980s return.
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