3.22.07
There’s a loud slurping sound coming from the kitchen. It sounds an awful lot like someone is trying to suck up a lone droplet with a straw. Then a little voice floats from the doorway, “That’s a sad, sad sound.”
Oh, she has the power to crack me right up.
“Mom, do you know why that’s a sad, sad sound?”
“No, Miss, I have no idea.”
“Because that sound means my pop is all gone.”
Pop. Soda. Sugar in a can. Kid Crack. Whatever you like to call it, we limit its consumption around here. We have problems enough at bedtime without sugar overload. So… one can of caffeine-free pop is allowed on any given day that we actually have some in the fridge. She’s learned that at eight o’clock in the morning I’ll say yes, but at six o’clock at night it’s a no-go.
“Mom, it’s morning. Can I have some pop? Because I can only have pop in the morning – it’s not a bedtime drink, you know.”
She will nurse that can of pop all day long, my little darling.
The “sad, sad sound” is just the kick-off of funny things she says and does lately. Every day I swear there’s something new. Fairly recently she said, referring to her bedroom, “I’m moving to the other room, Mom, because this room is a baby room.” And sure enough, she started sleeping in the guest room. Hey, so long as she’s going to sleep, I guess I don’t care.
I’m a little sad that her room with the fish border, walls sponge-painted to look like water, and stenciled fish is “babyish” to her already. I worked hard three and a half years ago to make it adorable. But I guess… it was a nursery, and now she’s 3… going on 30.
Last week I took her out to lunch. She unwrapped her silverware, folded the napkin just so and set it next to her plate, and laid out the utensils very neatly. Took a sip of her water, then set the water glass down very carefully. Then she picked up her menu and opened it, saying, “Now, what do I want to eat today?”
I thought the waitress was going to pop buttons, she was trying to hard to hold in her laugh. My daughter is a miniature adult.
She doesn’t allow talking at the table. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s rude. No talking.” Heck, she pretty much doesn’t allow her father and I to talk at all, because if we’re talking to each other no one is paying attention to her, and that’s not acceptable.
She knows the difference between Duluth, Minnesota, and Superior, WI, and also knows who lives where. And which side of the bridge we’re on at any given moment. She knows the days of the week and which days she goes to school. She knows the difference between VCR and DVD, and, of course, how to work them all. And all of a sudden she can actually “point and click” with the computer mouse. Dang!
Last week she begged me to take her to visit her cousin. It was after work and I was tired. “I don’t know what they’re doing tonight, sweetie, but I’m sure we’ll see her soon.” Little Miss was quiet for about five minutes, and then she said, “Well, you could call them, Mom, and see what they’re doing.” When we arranged for the littler cousin to come over, she said, “My cousin is probably bigger now, Mom, because I haven’t seen her in a long time. Maybe she can talk because she’s growing bigger every day, just like me!”
She knows the meaning of “extra” and “concentrate” and that you wear green on St. Patrick’s Day. When I told her this month is March she got very excited, and said, “It’s March! We have to make Daddy a cake, a birthday cake!”
She knows grandma is in Florida, and that we have to take an airplane to get there. She asks every day when we get to go on the airplane, and says, “But Mom, I can’t wait that long. I just can’t.”
Oh, and did I mention she loves her preschool, but… “Mom, I don’t want to go to preschool anymore… I want to go to high school with the big kids.” Whoa. Growing more every day, for sure. Too fast, girl, slow down.
The wonder of this smart, articulate girl-child of mine. Sometimes she tells me she’s smarter than me. Sometimes I actually believe her. How scary is that?
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