No. Touch. Kitty.

On the phone with my mom today, she said she wished she had a recording of the conversation so she could play it for Harper when she is ten.  Unfortunately, we have no phone tap.  I guess we can perform a reenactment using this script:


Mom:  Hello.

Me:  Hi.

Mom:  What is going on?  You sound like you are either laughing or crying.

Me:  Both.  I think I gave Harper a black eye.

Mom:  Don’t you hate that!  It is amazing they survive what you put them through.  When I think of what I did to your oldest brother, Will. 

Me:  It is not like I dropped her.  Harper, no.  I was carrying her into the living room.  She leaned out at the wrong time, I didn’t stop fast enough, and her head hit the door frame.  No touch kitty.

Mom:  Is she o.k.?

Me:  She is fine.  She barley cried.  Kitty does not like that.  But it is her first Christmas, and, oh, the pictures.

Mom:  Makeup.

Me:  Harper, no.  She looks like Rocky.  Harper.  No.

Mom:  Well I guess you can’t put a steak on a baby’s eye.

Me:  Spanky does not like that.  No. Touch.  Kitty.

Mom:  And, you pobably don’t have a steak.  (See as how you don’t eat meat.)  What about frozen peas?

Me:  We moved all our food to the basement freezer to make room Harper No for the cookies.  HarperNo.  HarperNo.  We have teething toys, but she won’t hold still.  Notouchkitty Notouchkitty.

Mom:  You sound like you are busy.


Mom:  I would just go with the make up.

Me:  O.k.  Love you.

Mom.  Love you, too.  Bye.


(Sorry for the lack of a picture.  I’ll get my act together soon.)


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