To the tune of Frozen’s Let It Go:
“Let it go. Let it go. Let the HTML go free!”
She’s a blogger daughter.
Going upstairs for bed. Claiming her nightly hoard:
“Can I bring Minnie upstairs?”
“Can I bring Mickey upstairs?”
“Can I bring (fill in 800 blanks) upstairs?”
“Can I bring my kitchen sink upstairs?”
“Mom, you’re sick. You have a fever.”
“Oh yeah? What do I need, doc?”
“You need more cowbell.”
Going to the grocery store for produce. Pulled into Polly’s:
Ellen: “Can we go to the store with the red carts instead (Trader Joes)? They match my tutu better.”
gobbles = goggles
bulimplics = olympics
hook = hood
directions: erections (this one gets awkward)
Now when I go to the bathroom, she presses her face up to the door knob and sings, “Do you want to build a snowman?”
“Can I please jump off the bed?”
“Please, can I?”
Me: Can you pick up those pillows please, Ellen?
Ellen: You can do it. You’re a mommy.
Ellen: But, I’m always doing the laundry and picking up pillows and making the bed…
At the grocery store:
“Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mommy. Mom. Mommmmmm??????”
“I’m going to call you bajina (vagina) now.”
My Dad: Ellen, let’s wrap this blanket around you to keep yer bum warm.
Ellen: And my vagina too!
When her light burned out:
“I think something’s broken with my lights. How about the Comcasts come and fix my lights maybe?”
Note: If ANYTHING is ever broken, her answer is that we should call Comcast to fix it…
While Sam and I were having a moment including a q-tip, vaseline, and his constipated self (a moment which he protested vehemently):
“Come on! That’s the spirit, buddy!”