Monthly Archives: January 2014
Tiern and Little Miss often correct me throughout the day, if I don’t call them by the name of the character they are assuming.
This afternoon, Tiern kept telling me, “She’s not ‘Little Miss.’ She’s ‘Scout.’ Say ‘Scout,’ Mama.”
Little Miss couldn’t correct me, because horses can’t talk, and Scout is, of course, Tonto’s horse.
Every time Tiern reminded me, though, all I could think about was the little girl, Scout, from To Kill a Mockingbird.
…as told by Tiern:
Once upon a time, there was a little girl and boy. They ate too much medicine. Not for breakfast, not for lunch, not for tea-time, not for dinner. They ate it for breakfast, AND for lunch, AND for tea-time, AND for dinner.
And for dessert. They even ate medicine for dessert.
Then they died.
And they went to the cross, and they went to heaven with Jesus.
So that’s why we don’t eat medicine.
At least he’s retaining the warning? And there’s a happy ending.
A few days ago, I found Tiern and Little Miss under their bed with vials of Homeopathic Arnica, packets of Emergen-C, and cups of water that they had filled in the bathroom. It was a sticky mess to clean up, but worse than that was the knowledge that they had acquired the Arnica and the powder packets from our medicine cabinet. We do not keep anything harmful in that cupboard since we learned that Tiern could reach it, but they know that it is “off limits.”
Most of our medicine is now stashed away in a very inconvenient location; however, this means that sometimes I don’t put things away immediately, and they end up in that cupboard for a period of time. This is how it came to be that today, Tiern was holding a small container of Advil in his bedroom, heading for his closet to try to figure out how to open it. That led to a general freak-out session by Mama where I described in as much detail as I dared, the dire consequences of pharmaceutical overdose.
Little Miss, a few minutes later in the bathroom, “MaMAaa! I don’t need some PRY-vah-see!”
I wandered in, “What do you mean, you don’t need some privacy?”
Miss replied, “Um, I need some help.”
If only I had known how easy it could be (hint: it doesn’t require waiting for Dadoo to get out a wedge and hammer):
This actually works!
I felt a but silly tapping the coconut with a hammer, but it’s true–there is an equator of sorts that is vulnerable, and eventually cracks. On our coconut, it went through the poles instead of around the middle.
I’d never heard of the oven trick, either.
This was definitely worth the watch.
Little Miss, talking to herself in her typical stream-of-consciousness way:
I am a meat-eater, b’cuz I like meat. So I sneak and find meat. And that’s for the superheroes. Not the bad guys… And then I will eat it, b’cuz I like meat…
Tiern: Miss, bad guys are just nasty superheroes.
Little Miss: Nasty superheros?
Tiern: Yah. Bad guys are really strong. If they weren’t strong, we wouldn’t need superheroes.
Little Miss: Ohhh!
Since Little Miss’s birth, she has been a joy to our family–effortlessly capturing our hearts (and the hearts of many others) with her charms. Her large blue eyes, wide with excitement and framed with long lashes, have melted many a tense moment; her sweet, tiny voice and contagious belly laughs draw all of us into her world of delight.
Often it doesn’t matter what she says, because her mannerisms are adorable enough. But there is plenty of cute content besides.
Me: Little Miss, let’s make a list of what we need at Costco. Eggs, sugar, …what else?
Little Miss: Um, samples. (pronounced “SAM-pohs”)
Act-shally, I like sam-pohs. If we don’t have sam-pohs, I’ll be really SAD!
As has been mentioned here before, the children put a lot of emphasis on the importance of colors. Tiern must like anything that is red, simply because it is red. Often, a blue bath towel is unacceptable for use because it must belong to Dadoo. There is already speculation about what Dood Locka’s favorite color will be. And of course, the cat and dog have been assigned their particular colors (green and orange, in case you’re wondering). Likewise, Little Miss’s preference for pink is never forgotten. For her birthday, she requested a Pink Cake.
“Ok,” I replied. “I think I can make–”
Little Miss interrupted, “–from the Liquor Store!”
We’re not sure where she came up with the idea that pink cakes are found in liquor stores, but the liquor store we use is located below our regular grocery store, where she has followed the heavily-frosted bakery cakes with longing eyes. Perhaps she thinks the Liquor Store encompasses both establishments?
Although not from the liquor store, there was a recipe with a cute story behind it, and I was pleased with the resulting Pink Cake:
Add to this the beautiful cupcakes from Miss Chuff that Dadoo showed a few posts ago, and we had one very happy 3 year-old.
She is still enamored with Michael from Peter Pan, the Disney version of whom wears pink pajamas. Yesterday, I helped her put on her own pink pajamas after a bath. Down at eye level with her, I cupped her face in my hands and asked, “Are you my girl?”
Her eyes widened as she matched my intensity of feeling, placing her hands on my cheeks and answering, “Um, no. I’m Michael.”
She still does not like to go to bed early, and while we do our best to enforce an early bedtime, this is often the scenario that plays out:
“Miss, it’s time to brush teeth!”
“I don’t want to brush teeth.” (she understands this is the pre-bedtime routine) “I want to finish my dinner.”
Little Miss’s godparents live in a different state, but we keep in close contact with them, and they are always asking about her recent favorites. For her birthday, her godmother asked me, “What is Little Miss into these days? Is there anything she especially needs?”
“Well,” I responded. “I don’t think she really needs anything. She’s starting to play more with her kitchen. And she does like pink…”
“Oh, really.” This statement was made in a knowing, conspiratorial tone. After all, Godmother has three little girls of her own.
Today, a package arrived in the mail.
Aside… Dear Mr. UPS Man: I am genuinely curious. The dog’s incessant barking since your truck stopped out front only became louder and more earnest when you ascended our porch steps. Was anyone in the neighborhood possibly unaware of your presence? So I’m wondering, why did you find it necessary to lightly tap on the door before making your hasty retreat? I don’t mind. I just find it somewhat amusing….
Tiern and Little Miss took some time popping the plastic bubbles.
In Tiern’s words, a puff-tick gift.