Overheard

I’m sitting in my old bedroom, typing away, when I hear this running commentary from my father in the kitchen downstairs:

“That’s a lot of banana for one little girl.  Are you really going to eat the whole thing?  Have you filled up that hollow leg yet?  Oh, no need to cry.  Do you want some applesauce?  Nope, no applesauce?  Do you want down?  There we go.  Alright, run your little legs off.  Now what are we doing?”

Erin