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God, in His infinite wisdom, gave us a daughter who thinks and acts much older than she is.

I’m still scratching my head.

 

Last week’s quotes:

“I’m embarrassing!”

Yes, yes you are.  Sometimes embarrassing.  Let’s work on that, kid.

After Sophie ran through my friend’s re-sale shop to bring me my mug of coffee that I didn’t ask for, a customer (of noted older age by Sophie) laughed  and said, “she must’ve known you needed your coffee, Mom.”  And then she laughed herself out of the store.

Sophie proceeded to take a drink of my cold brew.  I managed to retrieve it from her in between my own laughs.  And then she looked around the store and asked, “where’d the grandmaw go?”

After dragging her around all week to help out at the re-sale shop while the owner went through nearly two days of labor on her own (stay tuned for my upcoming post on the debut of baby Sean) and then dragging her with me to clean houses on Friday… we were both near breakdown.  I had a couple of mini-meltdowns before Sophie told me, “you hurt my feelings!”

“You hurt my feelings, too, Sophie, because you won’t listen to me!”  Pout, pout, pout.

“Oh, I’m soooorrry!”

Dagger to the heart.  Later in the car she repeated over and over, “it’s MY fault!”  Although I wasn’t sure what she was talking about I was certain that I needed to reassure her.

“NOOO, it’s NOT your fault, Sophie!”

“YESSS it is!  It’s MY fault!  I want MY fault.”

Oh.  Well, as long as she gets it back.  Not sure what she thinks her ‘fault’ is.

When she resumed this argument later, I told her it wasn’t her fault and she didn’t do anything.

“Yessss I did.”

“What did you d0?”

“Hit.”

“Who?”

“Grandmother.”

Grandmother?  Not Nana or Meeka?  Grandmother?  Not sure who she is.  Perhaps she is the “grandmaw” from the re-sale shop.  Don’t recall any hitting, though.

Last night while watching Miss America Sophie got a little puzzled at one of the final contestant’s talent.  “What’s she doing? What the heck?!”

I really didn’t think it was that bad.  When she had enough of beauty and semi-talent, she decided she’d go bug Courtney.  Joe and I resounded in unison, “NO!”  We waited.  Then Joe yelled back, “SOPHIE!  Come back in here!”  Nothing.  “SOPHIE!”  Then, the pitter patter of little feet coming towards our room.  She poked her head in and looked at Joe.

“Don’t scream at me.”

“Well, you listen to Daddy!”

“Don’t scream at me.  Again.”

Joe scooped her up and told her that she had to listen to him.  “Don’t make my sad,” she told him.

This morning when Courtney and I were kicking her out of Courtney’s room, she said, “Stop aggravating me!  Don’t aggravate me!”

After church, we couldn’t wait to eat and get Sophie down for a nap so that we could SLEEP!  Oh, the glorious thought of sleep.  After telling Sophie two or twenty times to pick up her Playdough, I got a bit flustered at her ignoring me or waving me off.  Joe firmly told her to pick up.  To which she replied,

“Stop stressing me out!”

Heavy sigh.

And finally, while Nana was bathing her, Sophie raised her arm and said, “I need to shave!”

Hey Courtney?  Thanks for pointing out how hairy she is!

Oh!  One more.  This morning I had Sophie dressed in a pink and brown dress with a brown sweater (WHY didn’t I take a picture?), a crocheted brown hat with pink Ostrich feathers and brown and pink Squeaky shoes.  After several, “she’s SOOO cute” and huge grins, Sophie looked up at me and asked,

“Is my pretty?”

Yes, yes you are!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to rest up for the week.

To read about more “shocking Sophie sayings” go HERE.

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