Any time that the child gets a chance, she seems to enjoy correcting me. She has to be very precise you see.
"Hey, kiddo, can you get the baby a couple of her baby snacks, please?"
"A couple means two," she'll declare as she heads to the pantry. I start to envision her opening the whole container of little banana shaped puffs and pulling out just two for the infant to whet her appetite on. Not good.
"I meant a few then, just give her some. Thank you."
She flick off the pantry light and head for the high chair proclaiming, "A few means three," as she pops a puff into her mouth. "Mmm, tastes like bananas."
"Just give her a handful then, you know what to do. Be Mommy's helper while I'm washing the dishes..." As if she could hear the frustration in my voice and sense that I'm beginning to crack she typically just has to go in and finish the job off:
"OK, Mom. I've got it. Does my beeeeby weeeeby want some wittle beeeeby snacks? Here ya go, Hay-yuh-lee!!" And with that she dumps half of the container of puffs out onto the highchair tray.
Anyhow, this morning when she would typically be getting ready for school she was instead bouncing on my bed asking why there were toys in my closet. You know the ones, the small pointy ones you step on when you're en route to the lou at 2 a.m. and invariable end up whisper-shouting "Fudgesicles, fudgesicles oooooooohhhhhhhwheee like the DICKENS that hurt!" Through it all your eyes are nearly shut so you can't see what toy found you but you'll never forget the impression it has left. The whole time you're peeing you're plotting war against the toys. So I told the kids months ago that whatever they didn't have room to put away they didn't need. And with that, several small tubs of fisher price animals made their way into my closet.
"I put your toys that you didn't have room for in my closet. If you can keep your toys put away neatly, you can have them back." The whole time I'm saying this, I'm thinking of their wooden blocks that they play with several times each day. Heaven forbid that I need something in their room when they've got those suckers out. They pretty much carpet the room with them, building towns and roads and bridges, etc. I'll tell ya, it's like intentionally walking across a bed of crushed glass trying to get to the diapers. "You really need to put these blocks away, NOW."
"But we're playing with them, Mommy!" A wail from the ballerina princess wielding a pink pony prompts my response:
"You're playing ponies, honey... c'mon, I'll even help you."
"But, but, but we're building houses for the ponies and their friends!"
Sure enough, if you move a couple blocks you'll find that each of those mounds was actually a home to a cherished Littlest Pet. I relent and retreat muttering something to the effect of "my mistake."
All that to say this: Now that we have reached the first day that Micaela should have been in school were it not spring break, she conceded to me that "NOW it's spring break." And not a one of my children let me sleep in for an extra wink this morning. :)
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