Daddy, can you spell my hand?

That's what Caroline says if she wants you to trace her hand on a piece of paper.  Then, if she wants to tear the picture out of the book, she says, "Dad, can I rip one?"  Also she can spell her name all by herself now, but just out loud, not pen to paper.  Still, she's two.  I'll take it. 

Also, I guess the other day she was coloring or something with Molly and she said, "Hey Molly, how's your day going with Uncle Andy?"  Nothing special there, just kind of cute.

Anderson's gonna be a great cop

Caroline:  Dad!  Anderson hit me!
Me:  Anderson, what happened?
Anderson:  We were just having a conversation.

Walker had good results from his most recent x-ray so he went back to school today to get his cast signed by all his friends, though there's little room left now that all his extended family has been by to see and sign him.  I signed on the part covering his bicep.  I told him I did it so he could make a muscle when he showed the girls where I signed, then I demonstrated what I meant.
Walker:  Whoa, Dad!  Can I feel your muscles?
Me (head swelling a little):  Sure buddy.
Walker, feeling said muscle:  Wow, Uncle Bob's muscles are way bigger than yours!
Me (head returning to normal size but feeling the need to defend myself):  Uh, I don't know, we're probably pretty close to the same.
Walker:  Yeah, well, that guy you're always looking up on the internet still has bigger muscles than you.
Embarrassing, especially if taken out of context, but I had to give him that one.

Oh, wow, 200th post.

Walker's arm

OK, so Walker broke his arm on Thursday morning in gym class by running into the wall during a race.  He broke both bones just above the wrist.  Carla took him to the ER and I met them there at about noon.  He was obviously in a lot of pain but he held it together pretty well for the nurses and stuff.  The ER doc ordered some morphine for him which got him feeling better pretty quick.  It also made him drift in and out of sleep a few times so that was good.  It was probably about 3 by the time the doctor had looked at the x-rays, gave us a scrip for what was basically children's Vicodin, and told us to follow up with an orthopedic doctor.  They had put his arm in a splint by then but it was far from good to go.  Fortunately we were able to follow up almost immediately and Walker was in "surgery" by 6.  They called it surgery because he was in the O.R. under anesthesia, but they didn't have to cut him open or anything (although the doc was afraid he'd have to put in a pin).  Walker woke up pretty slow but that was expected... it was after his bed time.  All in all, it went really well for what it could have been and we were home by about 9:30.  The main thing Walker complained about was actually being hungry.  He hadn't eaten since breakfast and he was starving but we wouldn't let him eat because we were thinking he might have to have anesthesia later.  That also meant that Carla and I didn't eat until he went into the O.R.  I ran down to the cafe and got us huge dinners to enjoy while we worried about our little guy.  Before we left the hospital, the nurse told us to give Walker crackers and chicken broth so he wouldn't get sick from the anesthesia.  Instead of all that he ate a double cheeseburger, chicken nuggets, and french fries.  Hey, he earned it, and he did not get sick.  He's doing well now, mainly resting up and watching football.

Carla asked Caroline to ask me to make her a protein shake before church on Sunday.
Caroline:  Will you make mommy a . . . bucka-chuck?
Carla:  No, say, will you make mommy a protein shake?
Caroline:  Will you make mommy a . . . purple shirt?

Caroline, to Carla, after I apparently refused to give her milk:  I want milk.  Daddy telled me no.  You don't say no to me.  You're a bad girl though.  Don't say no to me.  Mommy, I want you to go away.

Tonight I asked her if she wanted to sleep with her bunny, Lilly.  She said, "No, Wiwwee's bad.  She bit me on the leg."  I think she might have had a dream that she got attacked by her bunny.  Maybe she had just watched a horrendously unfunny British "comedy".

I was reading the kids stories from the epic novel Mainly Stuff the Kids Say tonight before bed and they were all telling me what their favorite parts were before prayers. Anderson continued to do so during prayers, so I told him he had to pray because he was interrupting.
Anderson:  Dear Jesus, My favorite part was when I said . . .