The other morning, Kalila looked at me with an earnest expression and said, “Are you taking the granola today?” I couldn’t figure out what she meant until suddenly it occurred to me that we have a second car and, yes, it’s a Corolla. But from now on, it’ll always be a Granola to me.
Dont give your child a name that starts with K, because if you do, you will have countless artifacts like this, which make it look like your children are secretly decked out in long white robes and pointy hoods with cutouts for the eyes. I can’t tell you how many times I have been asked to write Ks on a piece of paper, noticed that I had written exactly three of them in a row, and hastily added another one (or two, or three, for good measure) just so I didn’t have the Klan staring me down from the top page of an Elmo notepad. And today, Kalila brings home this necklace. “Oh,” I say, “how great that you made a necklace with your letter K.” “I didnt do it for the whole family,” she replies proudly, “I just used my letter.” And secretly I am thinking, Couldn’t you have included our first initials too? Or, at least, couldn’t you have just used one more or one less K for the center section? I am waiting until she learns how to read and then maybe I can explain that if she wants to see her first initial it would be better accompanied by her other initials rather than by two identical copies of itself.
There is nothing more emblematic of being the parent of a 3-year-old than being woken up at 7:30am with the news that your daughter has a large bead stuck up her nose. And let me tell you, it is HARD not to laugh in the face of a person whose right nostril is significantly larger than the left one because of a pink plastic bead. What is the thought that precedes the action of putting a bead up one’s nose, anyway?
Sometimes Kalila, who will be turning 3 in a month, blows me away with the words she inserts - correctly - into our conversations. This morning, I was getting her dressed, and she was balancing between the couch and the coffee table. My husband told her to stop because she could hit her face on the corner of the table, but she kept doing it. After watching her for a few seconds, I realized that she actually balanced quite well and told her it seemed as if she was ok there. She said to me, “Don’t worry, Mommy, I’m very stable.” Stable? Really? How did she even learn that word? I am starting to suspect that the kid is listening to us more carefully than we thought she was…
The other day, Kalila called me Little Fairy Elmo Mom. She said it casually, as if that was my name, and it came in the middle of a sentence. As in, “Can I please stay with you, Little Fairy Elmo Mom?” There were no giggles, no acknowledgment of some irony, just this new appellation of me, formerly Mommy, hereto forth to be known as Little Fairy Elmo Mom.
Last night I posted some funny dinner conversation excerpts as Facebook statuses and was told that this should be a tumblr. So here goes:
Kiki: Mommy, are you going to use a fork for your pizza?
Me: No, I usually just eat pizza with my hands.
Kiki: Is it usually right now, Mommy?
Me: Well, I mean that most of the time I eat pizza with my hands.
Kiki: Is it most of the time, Mommy?