Eileen has on a red polo dress and red monogrammed bloomers. There should not be anymore to this statement, but there is. Might the time be noted at 7:56.
She ran into my (our) closet, where my UGA visor was on the ground. Now, it's on her head. Running into the kitchen, wanting to be frat-tastic, newbies and socks in place, the visor is gone. She is off again. Purple fleece hat with dueling pom poms on. A rubber band as a bracelet and jumping up and down for my heavy silver necklace that she thinks is hers (and why not? Every 2 year old should have a Tiffany necklace. Hello, gypsy! We are Catholic, after all). The gift of the necklace is replied with a gift of a rubber band bracelet for mom. Fair trade? Sure.
Off again. A bucket for a purse as she lounges on water (baby drool) spotted silk pillows by the window on the floor. Necklace shucked, la-la-las coming from the sweet girl, I head into the kitchen to check on our concoction that she cooked... ALL BY HERSELF (one egg, mozzarella cheese, milk, lots of onion powder, Tony Cachere's, parsley, crackers, and pepper... it's all her.).
"Eileen, come on! Let's check to see if there are any bubbles!"
A very slow walk from the bedroom to the kitchen. Not seeing her feet, I could clearly see the look of pride spread across her face. She turns the corner. Electing to rip off both her socks and her newbies, she has replaced said accessory with Husband's aviation transport gloves... on her feet.