Giant love

Claire likes to find creative ways to tell me how much she loves me, which of course, I love.

Yesterday, she said she loves me as much as a billion giants standing on top of each other. I was thrilled with that much love. Then she said, with great drama, "And the giants are standing on the stool from Daddy's bathroom!"

So not only am I loved a billion giants high, I am loved a billion giants and approximately 12 inches high.

Take that.

The Shape of Things

Claire went to a friend's house to play today. Before she went, she asked me whether her friend's dad was going to be there. (Gulp, thinking the worst.) I told her I didn't know whether he would be home or not. (What did he do? My poor baby.) She said she really hoped not. (Oh please, no, this can't be happening. I will kill that badwording badword if he put a hand on her. NO!) I managed to croak out a why, and dreaded her response. (pleasenopleasenoIwillkillhimpleaseno)

Her answer: I don't like the shape of his hair.

Come to think of it, I don't really like the shape of his hair either. But not enough to kill over.