A Spring of Joy

“Mommy?” she whispered, trying to climb in our big bed.

I rolled over and pulled her in, snuggling her in between us, breathing in the scent of freshly washed hair. “Mmmmm?”

“I had a scawy dweam.”

I opened my eyes and saw her big brown ones staring at my face, desperate.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

She nodded, pulling her Digger Dog close, “I was at chuhch (church) and I was wearing my pwetty dwess. Then I fell in the duht (dirt) and my dwess got all duhty.”

Tears filled her eyes.

“Then what happened?” I waited for the scary part.

“That’s all, Mommy. That was my scawy dweam.”

Yep. We’re raising a diva.

We’re doomed.