So last night I realized that the toilet paper had been unrolled and then rerolled (a common occurrence). However this time the overhang of where the toilet paper had not lined up once rerolled had been touched by we hands thus making the paper a sticky mess. Par for the course when you have a 3 year old.
One of her other great tricks is when she puts her hand in my water glass when we are at a restaurant. There is nothing better than water with stuff floating in it. Really, it adds to the flavor.
I also love when I am trying to talk to Abby and she plays with my necklace or messes up my hair "to make it look nice" after I have spent the last 15 minutes arranging my greasy hair into a semi presentable ponytail (the sleeked back look is I, right? It is cool to look like the chicks in the Robert Palmer video eventhough it is 2005).
There really is no sarcasm (ok. Maybe just a little) when I say that I love it because I do love her little hands. I have always had a strange fascination with them. I have watched as they started as little fists when she was a newborn. I remember the first time she actually grabbed onto something. I loved the little dimples on her knuckles and the fat roll around her wrist where it looked like I had put a rubberband there. I remember making a mess to get the perfect handprint for her 1st birthday party invitations so that everyone could see how cute they were.
Tim freaks out about the handprints on the car window by her seat, but I don't clean them off because I love them. I love her interest in touching EVERYTHING, despite my constant warnings of "don't touch". I love the way she folds her fingers down to say I love you in sign language. I guess I just love her and everything she does (most of the time).
But you knew that already.
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