Alison Hodgson

Expert on the etiquette of perilous times.

As promised:

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As soon as I hustled her into some light for a picture she knew exactly where she was going, “When you put me on your blog you can write Princesses are rich!”  This was because she was clutching her wallet full of dough.  Here she is:

You might be thinking, “So she’s a little disheveled, she’s FINE!”
It really doesn’t matter what any of us think, because she knows she’s FANTASTIC.  I would like to point out the stains above “Dreamy” and the foam letter “P” above the “a” that, for some inexplicable reason, she put on.  You might be saying, “Fiffle!  Faffle!  And it looks like her socks matched.”
Well, you would be wrong.  “Can you see my kitty?’ She asked while I was taking this shot.  Oh yeah.

Here is where Jackie Boy chewed on her shoe, but never mind.  She certainly didn’t.

I tried to do a close up so you could see the dirt on her coat, but it wouldn’t play.  Bottom line, the kid’s adorable.  I mean look at that gorgeous jaw.  “You mean jowl?”  Her father asked.  Yes.

I did let her go out like this although I combed her hair and put a barrette in it, because that’s just what we do.  

Health Watch

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“Do you know what Catchy Petunia is?” Eden asked.

“No,” I said, “I don’t.”
“It’s a kind of sickness you can get when it rains and you can die.”  She said.
“Catchy Petunia?”  I said it myself and then something shifted and clicked and I remembered Lydia warning the Legumes about catching pneumonia just the day before.
Mystery solved.
“I don’t want to die.”  Eden said.
Nobody wants that, Sweet Bean.

A Little Legumage

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No baby yet, at least out here. She’s warm inside. I can’t blame her, I mean we’re talking January in Michigan…tough sell.

Torey and Ren have been coming over the last couple days. This afternoon almost everyone was in the kitchen while I made dinner. I was chopping an onion rather vigorously and a big hunk of it went flying off the island. Normally, anything that hits the floor is fair game for Jack and he knows this; within a second of the onion hitting the floor I heard the scuttling of his nails. Before he was able to swoop I grabbed the onion. Allowing Jack to it, just didn’t seem prudent. Torey read my mind.

“Can you imagine his gas if he ate that!” She asked.

“Ren, Jack’s farts are revolting.” Eden said.

“Oh, what do the smell like?” Ren asked with the convivial tone of a gossiping matron.

“Like dog poop.” Eden said.

For which no one can fault him.