Momnesia

What on earth is she learning in school?

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

I'm listening to a lecture by Lawrence Krauss, and Emmie has half an ear tuned in.

"Mama? Was Einstein real?"

"Yes, Einstein was a real theoretical physicist who did a lot of work that gave good knowledge to the world."

"... but den he turned eebil?"

What the...?

"No, Emmie, he didn't turn evil. Where did you get that idea?"

"I dunno. Nebbermind."

Rapper's delight... not so delightful

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

As I approached a group of acquaintances recently, I heard one say, "...beaten up and thrown in jail!"

I bounced up: "We can go toe-to-toe in the middle of a cell...!"

They turned and looked at me as if I had eight tentacles, all enthusiastically waving child porn. Uh-oh.

"Umm... We're not rapping, are we?" I said.

No.

Appalachian Emergency Room, Part II

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Occasionally I post a story about my sister's part-time gig at a natural foods store in North Georgia. This is another installment.

A woman in her 60s (we'll call her Nana) came into the store and asked for aloe vera. The store carries a number of different kinds - gels, liquids, some for internal use, some for external use.

"Nana said, 'I had a cyst removed from down there, in there,'" Kelli said. "She was pointing to her vagina, really pushing the point across about where it was located. I was like, I GET IT! IT'S YOUR VAG!"

Nana shared a detailed history of her medical experiences, visits to homeopathic doctors, etc. She wanted to know how Kelli could help her.

"I am not a physician or a homeopathic doctor. I am a part-time retail clerk. Why tell me about your vaginas and wieners?" Kelli said.

Nana wished she had known about the miraculous pure aloe gel when she'd had children, because childbirth had basically ripped her in half. And now everyone is freaked out by Nana's vagina for forever. Anyway, the cyst removal left a spot that gets irritated. Nana wanted to treat it with aloe, per her homeopathic doctor's recommendations.

Kelli continued: "She said, 'Because sometimes it just gets so irritated that I can't stop messing with it.' Again, THANKS FOR THE VISUAL OF YOUR VAGINA... ma'am."

Definitely related to me

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Emmie and I are taking advantage of a gift card we had to Yumo, a sushi restaurant out in Evans. We are in high spirits, and she is cracking joke after joke.

"You are really on a roll, Emmie," I giggled.

"You mean a shushi roll?"

And then she laughed so hard at herself that she almost fell out of her chair.

Sorry, Alice Wynn. It looks like there will be no future shortage of jokes for Popsicle manufacturers to print on their sticks.

Separate and not equal

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

I had some free rental codes to Redbox this weekend. I let Emerson pick a movie on Friday, and I picked one on Sunday. Apparently, my choice was not to her liking.

"But...! I wanted to pick da movie!"

"It's mommy's turn, sweetie."

Then she proceeded to be a little buttface through the whole thing. It honestly took me 4 hours to watch a 90-minute movie, because she could not be quiet. Finally, I sent her to her room for smarting off to me for no other reason than she was feeling irritable.

When I let her out of her room, she was even more wound up. And it was all my fault, she said.

"Mama, I'm angwry wif you."

"That's fine. You're allowed to feel angry," I replied, totally not giving a crap.

"You're not being fair."

"I'm okay with that," I said, turning the movie back on.

"Are you eeben lithening to what I'm thaying to you?" she demanded.

"Uh... to be honest, not really. I think you've had a lot to say today, and you've been pretty rude to mommy. I'm going to finish this movie, and you're going to do something quiet."

She glared at me. I ignored her. She put her hands on her hips. I continued to ignore her. She stomped her foot. I choked back a giggle.

"Mama, I fink you are not being like Martin Luther King. An' dat's a bad fing."

Uh, what?

This was totally worth turning off the movie to hear.

"Okay, I'm listening, Emmie. What's on your mind?"

She burst out with her explanation. Here it is, verbatim:

"It's Martin Luther King Day, for Pete's sake! And Martin Luther King wanted us to be equal - to be the same thing. Every children in this country wants to boss the parents around a little. So they just want to boss them around sometimes or a day because children are not sussposed to be in this argument. If anything happens to any children I'm gonna fits [fix] it because children are not equal to grown-ups. They're not even making this 10 percent fair. This is just a plain piece of meat. It doesn't feel like I'm in charge because mommies and parents don't even do what the children says. Period."

"So... you're saying that I'm not living up to the ideals of Martin Luther King Jr., because I don't let you be the boss and make the decisions?" I asked.

"Right. I think that children should be the boss a little. Because I don't really lite parents bossing us around because it's not very nice. You already do 'blah blah blah blah do the dishes blah blah blah blah get dressed blah blah blah blah do the floor' - lite that. And I don't really lite that," she said.

"Emmie, I try to involve you in our decisions. But there's a reason that I'm in charge. While children are capable of making good decisions, and you mostly do, parents make better decisions, generally speaking. Sometimes, of course, we make mistakes, too."

She was standing on the bed now. She put both of her hands on my shoulders and stared at me intently.

"Mama. You need to be lite Martin Luther King. An' he showed us how to all be friends. An' how to be nice to each other. An' how to be equal." She waved her hand back and forth between the two of us. "How we should be equal."

I stared at her, torn. On the one hand, there was so much that was good in what she was saying. And ownership does breed responsibility. On the other hand... no.

"You know, that was a really strong appeal to my emotions and my sense of morality, Emerson. I have to applaud you for almost making that work. What law school do you want to attend?"

Teach math skills early

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Emerson is mad because I put her to bed early.

"But I'm lonely."

"Yes, Emerson, a punishment is supposed to make you uncomfortable."

"Wull, dat's done. Can we stop now?"

"No. Go back to bed."

"But... why would you wanna mate me umcumpftorbul?"

"Because maybe that feeling will help you to remember to bring home one of the 65 jackets you've lost this year."

"Sixty-five?!"

"That's called hyperbole. I was exaggerating for impact."

"Sixty-five, mama? Really?"

"Well... two. I was rounding up."

Honesty suits her

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

I sent Emerson to bed early because the child cannot keep up with a single article of clothing unless it is stapled to her body. After having left her jacket and bookbag god-only-knows-where for the I-long-ago-lost-count-th time, I'd had enough.

But 30 minutes later, she came stomping down the hall like nothing happened.

"Can you scoot ober? Can you share da blanket?" she asked.

"Just what are you doing?" I retorted, and she began to stammer a reason why she should be out of bed.

"Wull, so I was in da bedroom and... wull, see, there was... oh, nevermind. I'm a wuss. I'm juss scared to be by myself."

She didn't get out of her punishment, but we both had a good laugh.

All Emerson wanted for Christmas was...

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Emerson got almost everything she wanted for Christmas, except the iPad she desired so greatly. She'll have to make do with my iPod Touch until such time as pigs fly.

Conveniently for Learning Express Toys, however, Emerson's birthday is coming up at the end of the month. But now I have no idea what to give her. I asked her what she wanted, but she got so much stuff from her very loving and generous extended family that I don't think she has any ideas, either. Seriously. She has so much stuff that she can't even imagine anything else to want. First world problems: We haz dem.

So this morning she told me that she wants a parrot. I tried very hard not to laugh in her face.

No, I'm serious, people! She's going to get something ridiculous like a cemetery plot for her 7th birthday, because she has maxed out all the major categories of children's toys:

Toys that make annoying sounds
Toys that hurt your foot when you step on them
Toys that startle you when you walk through the house at night
Toys that cost more to play with than they do to purchase
Toys that devour batteries like Takeru Kobayashi eats hot dogs
Toys that make such a huge mess that I conveniently misplace them in the back of her closet
Creepy dolls that may kill me in my sleep

The only thing we never have enough of are books and science toys. If you have any good recommendations for such things, I'm all ears.

Actually, that might be all that's left of me after her enormous Baby Alive toddles into the bedroom one night and murders me.

Meeting madness

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Me: So I spent all day yeterday thinking that I had missed an important meeting. I was trying to figure out what to do about it. Then, this morning, my boss asked me about it. I said I had nothing to update. Neutral, right? Turns out the meeting was today. I spent all yesterday thinking it was today.

Alice: Don't you have some kind of electronic device that helps you keep track of these things?

Me: Um... yes?

Well, this game is off to a good start...

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Loser choices for New Year's Eve

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Me: I don't know what I'm going to do NYE. I'll be in Atlanta, I think.

Alice: Go to the Clermont Lounge. I'm sure it'll be kicking.

Me: That is the kind of thing one does with a group of drunks at 3 a.m. It's not fun before then. It's just sad.

Alice: True.

Me: Ooh, Kansas is playing the Peach Drop. We can ring in the new year with the existential crisis that is "Dust in the Wind."

Alice: LOL!!!!!

Me: Start 2012 off with some morose navel-gazing. Happy times.

Alice: I'm sure there will be lots of bikers/rednecks whooping it up.

Me: The other grown-up option is the annual downtown countdown, with Ed Kawalczkqxkwvpgh (formerly) of Live and Naughty by Nature. What a weird combo.

Alice: Glad the '90s are back... When Jayson worked at the dining hall at UGA, one of the guys he worked with had to get coke for Ed Kawlakghsdfhhblech when they played the Athens Fairgrounds.

Me: I'm not complaining - unless someone starts playing "My Heart Will Go On" and then Hanson roller blades through the room while everyone does the Macarena, in which case, DEATH TO ALL. I like 90s music. BUT THERE ARE LIMITS. And I hit that limit when the younger cousin of my friend went to the Soul Bar for 90s night. She was wearing torn jeans, a flannel shirt and Docs. She said she was "in costume." I almost drop-kicked her off this planet.

Alice: LOL!!!!!

Me: I was all:

Alice: I just almost spit hot chocolate on my monitor.

Tiny hero almost triumphs in battle

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 13:00:00 +0000

As I've stated many times before, bugs terrify me. Anything resembling a bug, even fake bugs, makes me nervous.

I'm lucky to have a daughter who is largely fearless when it comes to bugs. She volunteered to catch her first bug at 18 months old - and I let her, dammit. I am not sorry.

However, she is no fan of spiders. Foreshadowing.

The other night, we were snuggled on the couch, watching holiday movies and ticking each other. The house was a wreck, one of our homemade garlands was coming off the wall, the mail hadn't come in two days for some unknown reason, I was flat broke from Christmas shopping and all was right with the world. Until...

"Ohmigosh," I exclaimed. "Emmie to the rescue! It's a bug!"

"Where?" she jumped up. I sometimes give her spare change for her piggy bank after a successful de-buggification, because I am a manipulative jerkface - uh, I mean, because positive reinforcement is an important tenant of my parenting philosophy.

I couldn't really see what kind of bug it was from my perch high atop the couch, from which I had no intention of ever leaving while the tiny mercenary awaited me. So I pointed her in the right direction and chanted her name from the safety of the furniture. "Emmie! Emmie! Emmie!"

She waved me off and peered over the floor. She is done with my dramatics surrounding bugs.

"Oh, dats juss' a leaf," she dismissed it.

"No, closer to your time-out chair," I said, and in her enthusiasm, she darted in that direction.

"Ack! Emmie, it's right - "

She looked down, saw the spider. And the spider saw her.

"Rawr!" it hopped at her, a tiny monster move that can only be characterized as adorable.

She screamed, leaped from the front door to the couch, setting a world record for 6-year-olds in the standing long jump, and clung to me.

"IssaspiderIssaspider!" she screamed. "Get it! Get it!"

I was too busy cackling.

"Issnotfunny! Go! Go!" she pushed me. "Get da spider!"

I stumbled from the couch, still doubled over. The spider stood its ground. I had to admire its bravery.

"Okay," I gasped, and reached into the closet for the broom. "You open the door, and I'll sweep it out."

She sneaked over to the front door and swung it open. The bottom of the door caught the spider and dragged it towards the wall. Crap.

"I goddit," she called, and reached for the door.

"Yaaaahh!" The spider charged towards Emmie's feet from under the door. She ran screaming again, leaping back onto the couch and screeching for me to get the spider.

It was about the funniest "Man vs. Wild" situation I have ever witnessed: This little spider, about the size of a dime, taking on two towering giants. It gave not a single crap that it was outnumbered or outsized.

I finally got myself under control enough to wield the broom. The spider saw me coming, and raised its front legs at me.

Insane. This crazy spider was not backing down.

I shrugged. Sweep! And it was out.

On the porch, it lay curled into a ball, legs contracted against its body. It didn't move, but it was most likely still alive.

I decided to let it live. Likely, we will face him again on the battlefield. Or, at least, on the living room floor. But he had been a worthy adversary and I think he had earned a second chance. Hopefully, he would choose to make his home in the woods behind us. But the neighbor's cat was lurking nearby.

"Is it gone?" Emmie called, and I closed the door.

"Yep."

"Good."

We laughed about the rampaging spider for an hour afterwards, especially because we came away from it with completely different perspectives.

For Emerson, the incident marks the day she almost died.

For me, it marks the first time I've ever seen a spider, those chitinous horrors, do something cute.

Side note: I came across this just a day ago, and it made me LOL.

Appalachian Emergency Room, Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 13:00:00 +0000

My younger sister, Kelli, refuses to start her own blog (even though she's the one person in the world who can make me laugh hard enough to vomit), so I have decided that I will occasionally post a story from her part-time gig at a natural foods store in North Georgia.

About an hour outside of Atlanta in a small town is a really high quality natural foods store. Kelli jokes that it's the "Appalachian Emergency Room" because people will come in and ask all manner of questions that one might ask a licensed medical practitioner.

"And you can hardly get a word edgewise before they launch into their stories," Kelli said. Stories that are frequently of a very personal nature. "I just want to interrupt and say, 'Ma'am, I am just a retail clerk. I cannot help you with your vagina.'"

The store owner is a wonderful person - an experienced, licensed homeopath and an all-around natural foods and supplements expert. She's very enthusiastic about her work, to the point that some people might think she's absolutely crackers. But she's not. She's just passionate.

However, one of the things she recommends to people is regular colonics. Now, devotees of a good colon cleanse (most recently marketed as "The Master Cleanse") are quite obsessed, even though there's not a lot of evidence to support their use.

"Have you ever Googled 'colon cleanse?' I've Googled it! Google it now. Do it. There are people who will blog about their colon cleanses, the entire process, with photographs," Kelli exclaimed.

Apparently (and here's where you may want to skip two paragraphs), the colon walls become coated over time with a substance that is eventually expelled during a cleanse.

"It looks like boiled spinach or collard greens, Stacey, and they take these photos of it, where they're showing people what they've just pooped out," Kelli said.

And every one of them is holding up their prize with a stick of some kind. The thing is, all the sticks look familiar...

"You'd think there'd be some difference in the sticks they use, right? Like, some would be just regular sticks from trees, and some might be old broom handles or coat hangers, or something. But, no! They're all about the same color and size and shape - and they're very clean. What I want to know is: Who is marketing the stick?! Who is selling the poop scooper sticks?!"

Merry Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Sun, 25 Dec 2011 13:00:00 +0000

How Emmie goes to bed every night

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 13:00:00 +0000

Click to enlarge.

Obama death panels come to Augusta

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Wed, 21 Dec 2011 13:08:00 +0000

Me: "Sometimes I wish there were death panels - so I could be on one. I have a list."

Allison: "I think we should use a big foam finger. And when I touch you, bam, you've been death paneled."

Me: "People will be all, 'Not the fingerrrrrrrrrr!' And it will be awesome."

Channing: "You two are just wrong. I'm not listening to you anymore."

And, you know, Merry Christmas, and stuff...

How I know my child is smarter than I am

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 13:00:00 +0000

I don't know if there's something stressing Emerson out, or what, but she's been super grumpy in the mornings the last couple of weeks. If she's not careful, she's going to spend a good portion of the rest of her life in time-out. She'll emerge at the age of 28, blinking from the light of the sun and gasping, "Trees! I remember trees!"

You think I kid, but her behavior is ridiculous. This morning, I was trying to get her to brush her hair. She refused to let me braid it the night before, so it was crazy tangled.

"Emmie! Dear lord, you have been brushing your hair for 30 minutes, and you've only done half of it. Will you please make an actual effort?"

Basically, she'd been sitting and staring at the radiator, absently pulling a comb through her tangles. I'd been riding her all morning, to the point where I'd even made a little "We Will Rock You" song-and-dance routine:

"brushyour HAIR! brushyour HAIR!
brushyour HAIR! brushyour HAIR!
Emmie you're a girl, head of cute curls
Brushin' your noggin gonna get smooth hair that way
You got a comb in your hand
Understand
Brush your hair, it's the law of the land.
Singing we will, we will BRUSH YOU!"

Tadaaaaaa!

Blink. Blinkblink.
Seriously. Nothing.

"Emmie, do you think I like telling you to brush your hair all morning? Do you think I get up in the morning, make your breakfast and lunch, take a shower, brush my teeth and think about ways to nag you? Do you think I'm like, 'Today, I will tell Emerson to brush her hair 75 times.' That's not my goal."

She looked directly at me for the first time all morning: "Dat might not be da goal, but it's da score."

*GASP!*

Twenty stupid things I have done just this week

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 13:00:00 +0000

I know there are lots of people who feel depressed over the holidays. I used to feel depressed, but now I just walk around with a big cloud of resentment hanging over me. Who are these people who have the time to make homemade wreaths and tie perfect bows in big, fat wire ribbons? You could poke out an eye with that stuff! How can you bear to climb up a ladder to put up Christmas lights? You know you're in the air, right? Like, not touching the ground?

In short, I detest being surrounded by people who somehow have the time to not only set up Christmas lights in their lawn, but also whip up some code to program the lights and set the display to music. I'm mad that my family has insisted on perpetuating the Santa Claus myth for the children in our family. I'm sure they're very appreciative of a fictional magic elf-man who uses slave labor to deliver toys to all the Christian kids on the planet in one night, traveling faster than the speed of light and possibly time. But fictional elf-man didn't slave over a hot computer screen to purchase that Wii last year, Emerson. Mommy did. And I want gratitude! Santa can bite it!

I am the Grinch in Whoville.

Do I express these thoughts? Well, yes. On my blog. But I try to keep my grousing to a minimum around living, breathing people. I went to our office white elephant gift exchange - and I brought an awesome gift that I found for only $7 at Walgreens!

I feel like I've gotten slightly off the subject here. To sum up, I resent the pressures to create the perfect holiday. And if you, also, resent those pressures and find yourself falling short of a A Very Macy's Christmas, you are not alone. To make you feel better, here is a list of stupid crap I have done in the last week.

Twenty stupid things I have done just this week:

Set my breakfast on fire in my toaster oven.
Glued my pants to the floor while doing Christmas crafts with Emerson.
Put my tights on so twisted that I think I cut off the circulation to my lady parts.
Run my head into a wall while demonstrating for comic effect how someone else ran their face into the same wall.
Taken a series of event photos and forgotten to fix the settings on the camera so that out of 100+ shots only five were usable.
Given almost all of my Christmas gift ideas for Emerson to other people so that now I'm out of gift ideas for Emerson (who is related to a LOT of generous people, apparently).
Somehow, despite my intentional increase of social media activity in the last few weeks, actually lost points on Klout.
Forgotten to pack Emerson's ballet shoes in her bag, leading to a meltdown of epic proportions that required me to leave work early to get her to ballet class.
Reinjured the wound on my chopped foot.
Baked a whole chicken and then completely forgot about it on the bottom shelf of my refrigerator. Four dollars, trashed.
Broke a universal remote simply by dropping it on the couch.
Decided I knew better than a recipe and burned about three pounds of chocolate in the oven. Five dollars, torched.
Decided I was good enough to trim my bangs with nail scissors. I'll let you imagine the awesome it added to my already oh-so-fashionable exterior. Twenty-five dollars to fix it, slashed.
Wore plastic shoes to work. My mommy gave them to me, and they're comfortable as heck. I love them.
Forgot to pack Emmie's lunch one day. I don't know where my brain was. Luckily, she had some money in her meal account. But still... hello, in there!
Took a picture of my sleeping child, showed her said picture, and utterly freaked her out. "Dats creepy, mama! Don't do dat!" Now, every morning, she checks my phone to see if I've been "checking on her." Sigh...
Refused to buy an Elf on the Shelf, because I think it's stupid. Commence angry comments. I've already lived through one barrage of them. Come at me, bro!
Was defeated by the Post Office, once again, regarding international shipping. Thousands of people ship gifts - and sometimes drugs, weapons, and other illegal items - every day through the mail, but I can't get a box of Little Debbie zebra cakes past the glorified cashier to send to a friend in Germany. And why does she even like zebra cakes so much? They're made of sugar, wax and dish sponges! Is this what passes for food in the world's greatest nation?
Turned in my desk chair, where I'd been sitting in a relaxed position while I wrote, and accidentally mostly-flashed my supervisor. I was obviously not raised right.
Ate someone else's chocolate. In my defense, it was sitting in the "everyone's food" spot on the counter. And, if you leave chocolate unattended around here, it will get eaten by someone. So, really, it's not my fault at all, right? Right?!

So, this holiday season, know that whatever is going on in your life to stress you out, you can give thanks that you're not a complete incompetent like me. Happy holidays!

All Em wants for Christmas is...

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 13:00:00 +0000

Me: "Emmie wants a pet for Christmas. Is a kitten asking for trouble? Maybe I'll just get her a gerbil."

Alice: "How about a parakeet?"

Me: "Eff birds. They terrify me."

Alice: "Me, too!"

Me: "They're just Velociraptors with feathers. You can tack goose down on an alligator, but I'm still not going near it."

Hide your grandma!

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 13:00:00 +0000

Flawless plan for holiday fitness

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 13:00:00 +0000

Visual therapy

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 13:00:00 +0000

Trollin' at work

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 20:00:00 +0000

At work, eating lunch with co-workers. T. doesn't eat red meat and was horrified to hear that A. had eaten veal parmesan while out to dinner.

T: "I can't believe you ate a baby cow!"

A: "Yes, and it was delicious! I also had Dungeness crab while I was in Charleston. I'd never had that before."

T: "What's Dungeness crab?"

Me: "It's where they raise the crabs in a tiny dungeon to make them more tender. [I make my hands into little claws] Give us free! Give us freeee!"

T: "What?! That's not true, is it?"

see more Lolcats and funny pictures, and check out our Socially Awkward Penguin lolz!

Training for Christmas (repost)

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 13:00:00 +0000

One of the reasons Scott and I don't take Emmie some places - like, to the Georgia Health Sciences Children's Medical Center Radiothon to be interviewed - is because I never know what is going to come out of that child's mouth.

So Christmas is a bit of a concern. I want her to properly use her manners and show her appreciation, but I worry that, instead, relatives will get The Face. The Face is this thing she does when she doesn't get what she wants. Her little mouth turns down, her eyebrows slant back and her voice takes on a whine that could strip the paint off your car.

(This was the first appearance of "the face," at a mere 5 months old.
She hated that hat.)

So I've been role-playing with her.

"Em, what do we do when we get a present?"

"Open it!"

"Well, yes, but what do we say?"

"Fank you!"

"Good! But, what if we don't like what's inside? What if it's something you already have, or something you don't want?"

"We say 'No, fank you.'"

"Eeee! Wrong!" I mimic a game show host, and she laughs. "You say 'Thank you.' What if someone gives you a present and you open it, and it's a box of poo?"

She laughs. "Uh... 'No fank you?'"

"Eeeee! Wrong! There are no exceptions to this rule, Em. You always say thank you. When someone gives you a present, how do you feel?"

"Happy!"

"And like they love you, right?"

"Yes!"

"That's what they're really giving you! They're giving you happiness and love. The present in the box? Well, that's just extra. So even if you hate what they give you, you smile and say something nice about it, because they already gave you happiness and love. And you want to give some to them."

"Okay!" She nods enthusiastically.

"Let's practice. Here you go, Emmie!" I hand her an imaginary box. "Merry Christmas."

She mimics opening it and looks to me for the contents.

"It's a... HAM SANDWICH!"

"Fank you," she says, laughing. "I like samwiches."

"That's awesome, Doodle! Now try to say something specific to the gift, like how you will use it. Oh-ho! You have another present! Merry Christmas!"

She mimes opening it again. I gasp with pretend amazement: "Look, Emmie! It's a box of dirt!"

She giggles: "Oh, fank you! We hab a hole in da yard, an' dis will help me to not fall down in it."

Oh my gosh, this is awesome. Why don't I role-play with her more often? We're both belly-laughing, and it's such an amazing insight into how her mind works.

"Very good! Oh, but we're not done yet - here you go, Emmie! Merry Christmas!"

She opens the imaginary gift, and I clap my hands with faux glee: "Ooooh, it's a live cobra snake - and it bites you in the face!"

"Oh, fanks!" she says, feigning delight. "We don't hab a snake pet! And it has so berry strong fangs!"

I laugh so hard I throw my head back and bang it against the wall. She's just too much!

"Wuz that good, Mama?"

"That was awesome. I think you definitely have this down. You might even be a little dangerous."

"But... mama? Is anyone really goeend ta gib me a real snake?"

"No, baby doll. But if someone went crazy in their brain, and did, what do you say?"

"I say, 'Fank you.'"

"Exactly."

"... but den I gonna run away."

"Yeah, I think that's probably the best course of action."

One of my favorite works of art

noreply@blogger.com (Momnesia) — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 13:00:00 +0000

Heck, no, it's not mine. I can't draw!

Click the image to enlarge.