“My father”

Thursday morning, Reid asked me if Daddy was “my father”. I told her that he was and she spent much of the rest of the pre-daycare time talking about him. She’d say things like, “My father tall” and ask questions like, “My father like raisins?” It bugs Daddy when people speak about him like he isn’t there or ask someone else a question that he is perfectly capable of answering on his own behalf. He says that my mom and sisters and I do this often and I have to admit it’s at least partially true. When Reid was doing it, well, we do socialize our daughters to be like us, don’t we? Poor Ken.

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