"Mommy, will Santa be able to find us on the ship?" Rowan asked, as we were driving work and school.
"Yes," I answered.
"How will he get on the ship?" she questioned.
"He's Santa," I responded vaguely.
"Maybe he will bring me my puppy on the ship," she continued.
"You can't have a dog until you are grown and out of the house," Layla reminded her Irish twin.
Oh, my beautiful baby. She remembered.
"I don't want a dog," Jory interjected, "you have to clean up his poop."
"Yeah, I don't want either. I don't want to clean up anyone's poop," the baby agreed.
"My husband will clean up after the dog. And he'll change our baby's diapers. And he'll cook," Rowan informed her siblings.
"He's going to leave you if he has to do all that," the baby told her sister.
"No, he's not. I'm going to sit down and relax and hold the baby."
I want my future son to know what he's getting before he proposes. :) The things that run through the mind of seven-year-old blonde girls named Rowan.
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