Regan stands on a chair pushed against the counter. “What picture are you going to make?” she asks as she looks down at the piecrust on the counter.
Regan and I made a chicken potpie for dinner. Well, for the most part, I made it. She dumped the bag of frozen veggies into the pan. She’s been an enthusiastic little helper though.
I’m not the best cook, but I can make a mean chicken potpie. I’m trying to help poor Grace where I can. She’s ready to pop, and she is drowning in exhaustion.
“I was thinking we should put something about the baby on the crust. Maybe if he knows we made him a special picture on the crust, then he will come out?”
“Great idea!” Regan claps.
“So, what should we draw that would be good for a little boy?”
“Make a flower,” Regan says with authority.
“A flower? Do
