A kid's renditions of the holiday classics are a thing to behold. Addison's no exception. On Facebook this past week, I recounted the ways in which Addison will not be silenced:
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Whereas my great anxiety is about how people always seem to be talking about me (and laughing), Addison thinks that everyone SHOULD always be talking about, and to her.
Loudly, after a prayer at church: "Why that man not bless my owie? And my other owie? Hey, man, I talking to you!"
To the mailman, who is oblivious and has headphones on: "Stop. Stop! I want to talk to you! Mom, why that man not stop? Why he not want to talk to me?"
As a neighbor turns the corner of the street while pushing her infant in a stroller: "Oh no! I forgot to show that lady my owies! On my hand, and my knee, and my ankle. Oh, this is so sad. That lady wanted to see my owies and say, 'it's okay Addison. It's okay.' Fast! Let's go find her!"
To the baby at the playground: "Talk. Talk, baby. I want you to talk to me. What's your name? I ask you a question, baby. You need to answer my questions. Don't make me angry."
Also, that last bit is likely because we have a green hulk fist that makes smashing noises and says, "You won't like me when I'm angry!"
