My five year old, Shylee, and I were walking out to the car this morning, having an argument. To be honest, she started it. Then...she finished it.
Shylee: Oh man, Momma. You are pretty!
Me: Thanks honey. Have I told you that you’re my favorite?
Shylee: I thought so. You’re so lucky that you look like me.
Shylee: That’s why you’re pretty. You look just like me.
Me: Whoa, whoa, sister. I had this face way before you came along. You look like me.
Shylee: Yeah okay.
Me: Not, yeah okay. You look like me not the other way around!
(I apparently talked about this too much for her.)
Me: Did you just shh me?! Seriously kid?
Shylee: Yep, there are bears out here. Better be quiet. It would stink if they ate you. I can’t reach the gas so I need you to drive me to school.
Whatever. She said I was pretty.