Fourteen

Corinne is fourteen months old.

And that girl can communicate.

She and I got a few hours this afternoon alone, just like old times (that is, like 5 days ago when Henry and Svea were in school and it was just Corinne, Sugar and me in the house).

She wanted to dance.

And dance...

...and dance. Hooray for Christmas music, y'all.

If you want to talk about hot shoes juice bye-bye, she is your girl. She is talking and signing like crazy. In addition to dancing, she loves shoes. Anybody's shoes. They totally do not have to fit.

And if she wants to put on socks and black Mary Jane shoes before bed, who am I to stop her, right? I'm just the Mom.

She is also climbing on everything. Like a monkey.

Which is right in sync with her loving the book "No More Monkeys Jumping On The Bed."

So when she climbed on the bench and the kitchen chair and the porch chair on her own and I called her a monkey, she might have shook her finger at me like Eminem rapping, just like we do when we say, "Mama called the doctor and the doctor said, NO MORE MONKEYS JUMPING ON THE BED."

Shake your finger, sister. It's almost Christmas...