This afternoon I watched a performance in my backyard that was worthy of an Academy Award. The kids and I were hanging around outside, tossing a tennis ball for Peggy, and enjoying the freshly mowed, yet painfully crispy-dry grass.
Hank (spinning upside down in the swing and feeling like a new kindergarten graduate) informed his sister: You know what, Hope? Sarah isn't going to invite you to her birthday party. It's only gonna be BIG kids.
I saw her eyes well up so I said: Hope, he's just trying to pick a fight. Don't respond. Sarah's going to invite you to her family birthday party but she probably will have a big kid party just for big kids, too.
Hope waited a minute, trying to decide whether or not she should go ahead and cry.
Next, she sat down on the chair next to me, tossed her hair and said to herself with a voice on the verge of fake crying: It's just a fib. (Sniff.) It's just a fib. (Sniff.) It's just a fib.
Next, she said it with an angry tone: IT'S JUST A FIB! (Grrr.) IT'S JUST A FIB! IT'S JUST A FIB!!
Finally, with a self-confident voice: Mom? It's just...a FIB!
Bravo, my little starlet/drama queen!
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