Miss Abbye. Or Miss Gabby? Or Miss... Scabby. I'm pretty sure she's saying Miss Scabby, which is what it sounds like and this one is frankly just the funniest one, and so we'll go with it.
This little 4 year old gal lives (or visits, but is there most of the time) about 3 streets down. And normally she doesn't really listen to me, and I spend all my time saying, "No, don't touch that," and "Aniyah, this is the 12th time; stop that," or some other reprimand. There's a reason I hang out with elementary-aged kids and not pre-K kids. But from the backseat hearing, "Miss Scabby, I want to come to your house; Miss Scabby, Miss Scabby!" I couldn't resist. She's coming with us from now on.
That's just a funny story to maybe make you smile. Or grossed out, because scabs are pretty nasty.
I've not blogged for awhile. What's going on? A grandfather is slowly slipping away from us; A community of hospitality in South Bend, Indiana opened its arms and shared in our songs and stories; we met a presidential candidate; and we've eaten some ice cream and done some homework with the kids down the street.
We've been learning why love should keep no record of wrongs; why it matters where we live and who sits at our dinner table; that prayer is something much more than talking, and in fact, maybe has nothing to do with it.
Hopefully I will make time in the coming weeks to spend more time on some of these... but for now, a Friday night with no plans awaits me (ah... finally.)
[peace be yours]