Uncle Graham

I like my picture of myself in my mirror. It looks really cool when the flash bounced on the mirror.

I like Uncle Graham. I like that Uncle Graham reads stories to me and throws me in the air and catches me again--ONLY in the house. Or sometimes outside. I like when he came to visit last week. He goes to war and he fights. He's big and he's eight years old--not eight years old. I think he's. . . I don't know how old he is and I don't want to say because I don't want to get it wrong.
Maybe doing war isn't such a good idea.