Friday, September 16, 2011
Pumpkin Pie is my second daughter. She is sweet and wholesome and good. She is my little nurturer, loves to play with baby dolls and loves to help with real babies. She sometimes changes her little sister's diaper without me asking her to.
She was not friendly to strangers as a little child and glared at anyone who dared to look at her.
Her emotions are pretty polar. Either she is happy, or she is NOT. NOT happy = howling her unhappiness to the sky in complete and utter meltdown.
She loves to play the piano and hounds me until I give her a lesson. She practices that lesson without my ever asking her to. Often she will sit down and just try to figure out the next song in the book on her own.
She likes macaroni and cheese, nutella on graham crackers, and hot cocoa. Actually, she loves junk food so much that I have to just not have it in the house because she will refuse all real food if she thinks there are other options.
Actual pumpkin pie is my favorite dessert, possibly because my birthday often falls on Thanksgiving day. Also possibly because I can eat so much of it without feeling sick. I can even eat it for breakfast and suffer no ill consequences. The fact that pumpkin pie is my favorite does not mean that Pumpkin Pie is my favorite. I don't have favorites. But it certainly is easy to love someone who is so often a willing, cheerful helper.