A content Jonathan was asleep in his bouncy seat; Abigail was standing at the island peeling cucumbers for our salad. Ian, Katherine, and Emily were gathered around the table watching the tears pour down my face as I chopped the world’s most potent onion for our spaghetti sauce.
About half way through sweet Emily said, “Me wishes me were a Mommy.”
Through the Niagra Falls imitation wreaking havoc on my eyes I tried to glance and smile at her before saying, “Aw, maybe one day God will make you a Mommy.”
“Nooooo! Me wishes me were a Mommy RIGHT NOW so I could cut your onion up for you.”