Super Bowl Sunday

We have a nice little Super Bowl Sunday tradition in our family, that has been going strong since Matt and I were married. His parents come over for a nice, quiet "party," during which we eat chicken casserole (a family favorite I grew up with), and actually watch the game and, of course, the commercials. In the football spirit, I dressed Harper in her Brett Favre jersey for the big day. While waiting through all the pre-game nonsense, she played a rousing game of Lay on the Kitchen Floor and Try to Kick the Dog in the Face. Guess who enjoyed it more. . .
















While I was preparing dinner, Harper and I had a little conversation about the big game. She looked at me, proudly patted her number 4 jersey, and gave me a look that clearly asked, "How many touchdown passes do you think my man Brett will throw during the first half? And do you think the Packers will win by more than a touchdown?"

I gently took my sweet angel on my lap, sighed, and explained that the Packers wouldn't be winning the Super Bowl this year, because they weren't playing in the Super Bowl. I felt it was only my duty to further inform her that Brett Favre may very well retire from football before next season. These are the times when it's hard to be a parent. Her look says it all:
















I know little one.

I know.