“Your breathe literally just hit me.”
Ahhhh, the language of love from Zoë, my sweet tween. Apparently, I leaned in a little too close this morning in the kitchen.
I didn’t know whether to be offended or impressed. Frankly, I was more impressed. She doesn’t realize it, but she talks like a writer. I suppose I should be more concerned about her behavior, but I’m actually more impressed that she can choose one word so perfectly to describe how she feels. No one else has ever told me that my breath literally hit them. She even raised her hand in a defensive gesture to block any further assault. I had to laugh.
The fact is, it was really hard to get out of bed this morning. So I chose to run downstairs to the kitchen before brushing my teeth. I know that sounds gross, but welcome to my world of juggling three children in the morning. Sometimes brushing your teeth, hair and whatever else comes in second place.
I am trying to teach Zoë to be a little bit more diplomatic in conversations with others, but I do get a kick out of her honesty. Zoë says exactly what she thinks. And that is how she has always been. I love that about her. She’s like a little Dakota Fanning.
I don’t know where she gets it.