It is a wet and breezy day. My daughter is home from school with a cold. She doesn’t like being kept home and is somewhat disgruntled when I won’t let her walk puppy with me. But, due to an on-walk toileting malfunction, puppy needs a wash when we got home and that distracts from potential grumpiness. Puppy goes a bit mad after his bath and scoots around the house at a zillion miles an hour, doing wet, arcing slides on the wooden floor eventually sliding at full speed face-first into a filing cabinet. That slows him down.
After a game of indoor handball (closely watched by puppy who is now on the couch), my daughter and I decide to make ANZAC biscuits. She chortles as she continually thieves the dough. She always wants to lick out the bowl before everything is ready. My husband emerges from his home-office and comments gleefully on the activity at hand. His fingers, too, head straight for the dough. After about five instances of thievery from each of them, I begin to fear there will no dough left for baking. I warn: “Stop it, you two, or I will attack you with knives!” Meanwhile, I wave a threatening tea spoon at my daughter. She chuckles even louder, taking on a witch-like tone. hahaha (she is now interfering with my typing). hahaha
Her eyes are like huge grey-blue sparklers. I just love it when she laughs.