Abigail’s First Four Years, A Quotable Retrospective

Today is Abigail’s fourth birthday. She started the day by saying, “I’m going to be four soon.”

“No, you’re not,” I said.

“Yes, I am. It’s almost my birthday.”

“It’s not ALMOST your birthday.”

A smile that big is a great way to start the day.

I’ve put together a look back at Abigail’s first four trips around the sun, in pictures and in her own words.

On birth: “Ah, ah, ah. Another baby popped out of my belly.”

On managing the young ones: “Sometimes she’s crying so I take her to the gypsies.”

On when the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie: “That’s the morning.”

On things to say at 4 am, just as Dad is convinced you’ve fallen back to sleep: “Daddy, do you like ladybugs?”

On hide-and-seek strategy: “Don’t look in the bed, okay?”

On why she’s hacking at Strawberry Shortcake with a comb: “I’m cooking some strawberries.”

On what she wants from Santa: “I don’t want Santa to bring anything. Just shoes.”

On socks: “This one put on my foot and this one leave on my hand. It’s fine.”

On demographics, Daddy’s: “Daddy is a big girl and a little boy.”

On what she knows about the farm: “I know about the pig.”

On alarming things to say while holding a cup at the dinner table: “Something needs water on it.”

On her somewhat abstract yet gleeful suggestion for what she might moisten: “Beeeeeaard?”

On being told that big girls listen to their daddies: “And little girls don’t!”

On whether the animal she’s thinking of swims: “A lion.”

On what to say in front of your dad with your arms up: “‘Th-d-d-th-d’ means ‘pick me up’ in Spanish.”

On why she needs a big-girl fork to eat her cereal: “For forking.”

On the blast radius: “Stand back, Daddy, so I don’t get poop all over you.”

On what she needed to hurry back into the house to tell Mama: “You’re important.”

On what she ran back inside to tell Daddy: “I’m going to school and you wait here. I’ll come check on the babies. I’ll see if the babies are at the hospital yet when I come home. When I get back I’ll drive them to the hospital. Okay?”

On convertibles: “That car is broken.”

On automotive travel: “The car makes me sad. The car makes me a diamond. Blue diamond. It makes me a blue diamond. It makes Momma a pink diamond. It’s from the park.”

On my driving: “I’m going to have to talk to Mom about this. You weren’t watching the rails, Dad.”

On how to play chess: “Brown on brown and vanilla on vanilla. It’s easy.”

On questions, intriguing: “Do you know what cupcakes look like when they’re all gone?”

On answers, surprising: “Like chocolate graham crackers.”

On being disappointed by your heroes: “Peter Cottontail went poop on the furniture.”

On how to play Dragon: “You sit there and I’ll try to eat you.”

On what we should do now that we’re both pretend dragons: “You have some lemur and I’ll have some lemur.”

On big questions: “What’s the big idea?”

On answers, given within inches of your face: “Are you the big idea?”

On the prerequisites for reading about chipmunks: “Put your chipmunk eyes on, Momma.”

On why she sings every other line of Old MacDonald about a dog: “There were so many dogs there at the farm.”

On demonstrating proper magic wanding to Daddy: “No, no, no. You were going like this, swishing it around, and I need it like this.”

On appearances, now that Daddy has covered his face with shaving cream: “Now you look like a queen and I look like a hard boiled egg!”

On “Goodnight Moon” having an expanded cast of characters: “Let’s see what happened to the coyote.”

On the end of Abigail’s telling of the story of Whiskers the cat: “The coyote ate him anyway.”

On why Maggie is bad: “I said “bad dog” because she’s old.”

On scientific discovery: “For some reason the cold air starts coming out when I open the fridge.”

On aviation mechanics: “Do airplanes go pee pee?”

On contradicting Dad’s answer, with irrefutable, visual evidence: “I saw an airplane going pee pee.”

On why she is bringing that blanket into the kitchen: “I has a idea.”

On what her idea is, and why it involves a blanket next to a chair: “If I put the blanket here, maybe I can tip it over.”

On what you might overhear her say while she plays with her dolls: “Awww. I know it hurts to have a dinosaur bite.”

On things to say while wearing Momma’s shoes: “We need to go get coffee.”

On things to say while wearing Momma’s shoes: “We need to go to the store.”

On things to say while wearing Momma’s shoes: “Okay, you know what, we need to go to the restaurant.”

On what she did at school today: “I put my finger on everything!”

On the glass of water she’s holding: “Dad, is this from tomorrow?”

On units of measurement: “Miles and miles of years ago: tar pits!”

On what Mama needs:  “You don’t need help, Mama. You’re perfect

On why she needs to go outside: “To save Princess Belle and Santa Claus from the spider.”

On consoling her doll: “Heidi, please don’t be emotional.”

On labor and delivery optimism: “Maybe I’ll catch baby brother!”

On Gabe’s so-called birthday: “Why didn’t we have cake?”

On what her brother’s name is, five days after he was born: “I don’t know.”

On what to shout to the stranger across the street: “My name’s Abigail and I have a dress on!”

On realizing she didn’t have a dress on: “I’ll wear a dress next time! Fancy, fancy!”

On how the snail smells: “Like meat.”


On tissue paper marketing: “I’m enjoying this picture of a girl wiping someone’s nose off.”

On expressions that she uses in almost any frustrating situation: “It’s no use!”

On me standing quietly, wearing my “where’s-the-please” face in response to her demand for milk on her cereal: “You got it. It’s right there. Go.”

Happy Birthday, Abigail!








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One Response to Abigail’s First Four Years, A Quotable Retrospective

  1. Terri says:

    So fun to read. Pure sunshine!

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