With grins wider than the Mississippi and my creamy, pink blush all over their eyelids, I stopped dead in my determined-to-get-the-house-clean steps as I rounded my bedroom corner and saw my made-up dolls. “Don’t we look fantastic?” Claire said, with agreeing nods from Emmy. Couldn’t even be mad because, for one, we’ve had zero make-up shenanigans in this house of girls until now. And they did look pretty dang fantastic. I didn’t love the blush anyway.
Olivia walked outside to see the photoshoot of her fantastic sisters. Mid-bite, I asked her to stop and smile for me, too. She gave me that squint below, funny girl. Or rather, funny mama (who asks you to smile while you’re eating pizza anyway?).
Chloe’s squawks started coming from the upstairs window. I ran up to her room, finding her like so. She’s a princess with a hidden pea on that stack of blankets (I just can’t sit with my babies sleeping on hard surfaces. Who likes sleeping on a board anyway?).
Sweeeetest face on that sweet girl. I call her “Sugar” more often than not, you know. And I mean, can you blame me?
Who can handle this kind of baby magic anyway?
