Today we feature another heart-warming anecdote that demonstrates the love between my daughters and me. The below picture is a little dog named Daniel:
Daniel was my childhood comfort object. According to my mother, when I was about a year old, I had a book about a little dog named Daniel. She says that I insisted that this book be read to me several times every day. I don't remember this, but since I was but a mere infant, I'll take her word for it. Even if she is a Republican. So, I called my little dog Daniel, after the dog in my favorite book. I've had this dog my entire life. I slept with him every night. Since my mom is the master (mistress?) of sewing, he's been re-covered a few times. He's not his original color, but it is the original dog. When I left home, he went to college with me, and to my first apartment, and so on. He's now mixed in with Kylie's toys, and as you can probably tell from the picture, she decided to take him on a ride with us.
So we're in the van earlier this afternoon, taking Shannon over to a friend's house, and Kylie is quizzing me about the dog. Did I have it when I was a little girl, what's his name, who gave him to you, blah blah. By the way, she knows the answers to all these questions, as she's probably asked them at least 184 time before. Anyway, my lovely middle daughter, my 12-year old, who has a rather dry and sarcastic sense of humor (I have no idea where she gets that from) says,
"Yeah Mom, when you die, we're going to put it in your casket."
While I'm trying to think of a snappy comeback for that one, the small one pipes up from the backseat:
"Or, in the garbage can."
Awwww, girls...Mommy loves you too.