Well. As if she didn't already think Daddy hung the moon, that act solidified it.
She wakes up in the morning- she wants to swing.
She protests eating homemade manicotti- she wants to swing.
She hides from me when it's time to fashion her hair into something other than a ratty beehive- she wants to swing.
She gets tucked in and no less than 100 kisses at bedtime- she wants to swing.
She gets home from daycare and hightails it to the backyard with the Beagle close behind- she wants to swing.
She wants to swing. It's the greatest thing to happen to her since, well ... hotdogs.
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