Polly pocket

Some updates from the Polly archives from the past few months.

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Polly was upset about how I did her hair, and she went outside our bedroom door to sit and cry. I heard her say, "I really didn't want this to happen... this is, like, the worstest day."

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Polly: Dad loves popcorn. Yeah he loves alcohol, and popcorn, and vegetables...

Me: I think you mean soda, not alcohol.

Polly: Yes he loves soda. Alcohol is yucky. Well, it’s yucky for us.

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Me, to Ida (as I cleaned out Theo’s backpack and kept exclaiming how disgusting it was): I’m sorry for complaining. I love Theo. It’s not his fault he lacks executive functioning skills.

Polly: Theo’s a good boy, but he never cleans his pack-pack. Only you do.

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Me: Hey Polly, can I eat you up?

Polly: EWWWW! No, that’s “gisgusting,” I have poop in me!

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Me: Your feet are getting so big! Because you’re growing 

Polly: Yep! But I still need... little chairs.

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Polly: Mrs. Sahab’s girl-son likes me.

Me: you mean her daughter?

Polly: yes, her daughter.

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Polly: Ida, give it to me!

Ida: what’s the magic word?

Polly: Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo, can you give it to me?

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After learning the symbolism of the sacrament (bread & water)

Polly: I think that’s why Theo always eats toast.

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Polly, to me: I wish I could sleep on your tummy, because it’s so cute and so warm.

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I helped Polly take off a shirt with an extra tight neck, which caught on her ears for a second. Afterward, covering her ears she said:

“I don’t want these to disappear, because Jesus made me.”

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Polly, carrying a blanket:

Mom, can you please fold this, gently?