Although the first story also relates to the fact that S is our little Italian girl, taking after DH's heritage with her love of all things pasta, olive or cheese-related... But it's also a well-known fact that I talk with my hands. A lot. In fact, someone once said, after watching me from across the room, "Jeez, if we cut off her hands, she wouldn't be able to say a word!"
So, S and I were out for a walk/bike yesterday. She was riding, I was trying to walk quickly enough that she wouldn't end up falling over every two minutes.
She launched into a story about a particularly beautiful front lawn that she saw once, but she was having trouble describing it.
Finally, she said, "Mummy, I'm going to have to tell you when we get home. I can't describe something and ride my bike at the same time--I need my hands."
This one definitely shows that these children are mine, all mine.
Going out to dinner the other night, we were discussing whether or not DH knew where he was going.
E piped up helpfully:
"You know the one, Pop! It's right by the LCBO."
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