I'm teaching Lyla how to make coffee in hopes that one day she learns to go downstairs and make coffee five minutes before I wake up. I'll let you know if it ever works.
Julie got a call from daycare that Lyla crashed into a toy shelf and bit her tongue. Her mouth filled with blood and she "really freaked out." I went and got her, expecting her to need a doctor visit and eventual tongue transplant, but she bounded over cheerfully, told me of her plight, and informed me that once home she would require a popsicle, preferably a purple one.
"A grape one?"
"No, a pupple one."
More accurate, technically.
Back home, I failed to convince Lyla and Rowan to smile for a photo.
I think "synchronized pouting" should be added to the 2014 Winter Olympics.
Notice Lyla's purple popsicle. And there on the green plate are the remains of Rowan's orange popsicle. (Try telling a two-year-old that his sister bit off her tongue and gets a popsicle, but he doesn't.)
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