Two Reasons Mumma Shouldn't Sing

I was putting the girls to bed tonight, when Riley urgently interrupted my oh so melodic version of Twinkle, Twinkle. No surprise, as I get interrupted every night with a myriad of questions. You'd think they'd let me zip through the song, just to get it over with. I'm that good.

Anyway, Riley said, "Mumma, what's that rotten smell?" as she started sniffing wildly. Well, as you may have read before, Riley has my nose -- she can spot chocolate a mile away.

Again, "Mumma, what's that rotten smell?"

I was starting to get afraid that bedtime might be dragged out extensively here.
And as it was a very long day, what with an earlier than usual wake-up time AND daylight savings time on top of that, I was starting to panic.

I started sniffing along with her. I sniffed her hair, her blanket, her pajamas.

"Is it Burkle?" I asked -- her daddy's ancient mangy teddy bear who she was hugging tightly.

"No," she replied.

She kept sniffing.

Then it dawned on her.
"Mumma, it's your voice."

"Sorry honey, it must be the garlic."

I guess our adult version of tonight's pasta dinner had a few too many cloves.
Looks like she's not ready for Italy yet.