Last night I was holding the girls in my lap, reading The Runaway Bunny. They were snuggled under a blanket, captivated by the story... or so I thought. Something in the book made Molly think of food. It might have been the big bunny cloud, blowing the bunny sailboat home. Whatever it was, she decided she was hungry, and it wasn't for hasenpfeffer.
"Mommy, I wish you were made of marshmallow so I could take a bite of you."
Say what? While I was still trying to figure out where in the world she got that idea from, she bit me. She chomped my arm like a dog tearing into a t-bone.
"OWWWW!"
She smacked her lips a little, made a face, then said, "You don't taste like marshmallow."
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