Dear Hagen,
Lately, you have been spending about 30% of each day pretending to be a puppy. You crawl around on the ground, making "Ruff ruff," sounds and assuring us (in case we didn't pick up on the clues), "I puppy!"
I have no idea how this got started. I'm tempted to think it was Laney's idea, because she's developed a knack for talking you into things... at the age of two, you've already had your fair share of makeovers.
She claps he hands on her knees, and sings, "C'mere puppy!" and pats you on the head when you arrive.
This was all semi-cute, semi-weird, and mostly ignorable until we went to a get-together at your school a few weeks ago. That's when you walked to the middle of a circle of moms, put your paper plate full of crackers down on the floor, got down on your knees and started to eat a half dozen Ritz without using your hands.
"He's a puppy," I explained. And sighed.
If only I could assure myself that's the weirdest thing you're ever going to do at a party.
Love,
Mom
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