Panties and Chicken Boobs

Her gorgeous blue eyes began to fill with tears as she looked up at me with a trembling chin.

"Emma, baby, what's wrong?" I asked.

We were simply getting her ready for school when the chipper mood flipped 180.
Her eyelids forced the water from inside her eyes. Her cheeks became stained.

"What is wrong, baby?" I had to ask again.

"They won't .... " she sobbed.

Abbie and I leaned forward expecting the worst.

"The deachers at my dool..." she started over.

Our eyes widened as if to encourage the words from her mouth. "My deachers, won't pull my panties from my crack at dool!" she blurted out, complete with a string of spit flinging to the air in front of her and repelling down her tiny chin.

The following day I was sitting at the dinner table. Emma was coloring a picture next to me and Abbie was standing in between us both. Abbie and I were talking about something. Something that at the time was more important than any of the many reoccurring interruptions we encounter every time we attempt an adult conversation.

During one of our pauses that is usually the cue for Emma to inject a "Mom, Mommy, Mom" she surprised us with a statement:

"Mommy, you have chicken boobs."

Abbie turned her head and stared at the words still hanging in the air.

"Wait did you say?" Abbie asked.

Emma pointed to Abbie's arm.

"Goose Bumps?" Abbie questioned.

"Yeah." Emma replied as if she had stated the question perfectly and began working again on her drawing.