generations

Caroline: Marmy is my grandmother.

Mama: That's right, she is your grandmother and my mother.

Caroline: She's NOT your mom!

Mama: Yes, Marmy is my mom. How else do you think she became your grandmother?

Caroline: She got old. That's how it happens.

i'd say it qualifies

Caroline entered the house, and a pink butterfly net was thrust in my face.

"Look. There are some pansies in it, and a rock too. I also caught a fly. See the fly right there? It's a dead fly, but it still counts."

...

This was immediately followed by, "I think I'm going to start a collection."

I think Little Miss is ready for the summer session of preschool to begin.

the petite villain

I heard a scream.

Caroline begged for help.

I quickly came to her aid and found her cornered by a... laughing, crawling baby.

"What's the problem?" I asked.

"Sylvie's going to get me!!!!"

"Uh, she's a baby. What's she going to do to you?" I tried not to roll my eyes.

"Have you seen those two pointy little teeth?! And she looks hungry!"

preschool jurisprudence

She said:
Hey Mama, I think I'm going to need one of those teeeeny tiny Rs in a circle for school so I can keep Otis* from copying me.


She wants:
®

*Name changed to maintain the element of surprise when the cease and desist order arrives.

setting a good example

Caroline said at dinner, "You know, we shouldn't just throw our garbage all over the planet. It's a bad to do that."

I nodded and said that yes, we have to take care of the world, thinking she was a little environmentalist.

She continued, "Yeah! If we do throw garbage all over the planet, when the aliens come, they will just put their trash all over Earth, too."

the maternal sherpa has no sympathy

While unloading the kids from the car, I had baby Sylvie in one arm with a bag of stuff dangling from that wrist and my keys in that hand; and I let Caroline out of her carseat with my right hand before picking up another bag of stuff, a cup, and some art papers. I told Caroline she'd have to hold her own water cup and her small toy and carry them inside herself.

She said, "I'm afraid I can't."

And why not?

"I only have two hands, Mom."

welcome to paramount studios, circa 1942

After being told she could not have a drink of water before bed, Caroline slowly turned her face away and stretched a hand towards her father, as if to tell him to stop. And then she winced in despair and said, "Just... just forget about me."

needing a vacation from the vacation

This just in from special correspondent Aunt JuJu, who took Caroline for a walk on the beach this morning...

Caroline: You know, this vacation is tearing my life apart.

JuJu: How's that?

Caroline: My dog misses me. I miss my house. It's just really tearing my life apart.

the most specialest father's day everrrrr

Caroline and several of her cousins have been enjoying the Wii game Just Dance (think dance karaoke) during the evening hours of this family vacation. So we've endured countless enthusiastic dance renditions of "Who Let the Dogs Out?" and "Ring My Bell" and "I Like to Move It", among others, including Gym Class Heroes' cover of Britney's "Womanizer."

Today, we were making Father's Day cards for the dads and grandpa, and Caroline had written something on her card in her phonetic shorthand like:

BDPTF I
NO UH
BDPTF
I NO UH

And I asked what it said, thinking it was something poetic for her beloved dad, and she sang:

"Boy don't try to front, I know just what you ar-ar-are. Boy don't try to front, I know just what you ar-ar-are."

put that on my headstone

I made baked French toast for 20 people this morning, and after Caroline enjoyed a bite, she raised her fork and said, "Aaaah, the sweet taste of sugar!"

I laughed at her, and she got very serious.

"I mean it. You're the best cooker ever, Mama."

when in rome

Caroline, while on our Mexican vacation, to the Mexican woman doing housekeeping at the beach house in Mexico:

"Oh! Hola to you, too! I didn't know you speak Spanish!"

c. montgomery burns, jr.

Caroline got an ickily realistic toy lizard that she named Anna. Anna has been up to lots of things in the 24 hours we have had her. She's taught about centrifugal force, why mothers don't like sticky gooey lizards on their faces, that hiding sticky gooey lizards in dark computer bags can be a funny prank, and even more.

But now I fear that Caroline is teaching Anna too much.

Anna sat on the couch upright with her sticky gooey lizard fingers steepled, and the painted serious look on her face.

I asked Caroline what Anna was up to.

She informed me, "I'm afraid she's thinking, 'Hmmmm. I like destroying dreams.'"

grizzled and weathered

We were getting ready to board a plane for the family reunion trip to Mexico. I was trying to psych her up about the plane ride, since she's a little edgy about certain noises (like, oh, hairdryers or a clicking cd) but totally tolerant of what I'd think are terrible noises. It's a crapshoot, so I try to prepare her as positively as possible in advance, just in case.

I reviewed that "it's like a loud whoosh and the wheels will fold up and make a loud sound, but it's sooooo cooooool that we can fly, and how big will a building look from a sky? Will you feel like a giant? No this is not a diversionary tactic, why do you ask?"

We continued this conversation for a while before she mentioned that she'd never been on a plane before.

I told her that she had, but she was a toddler last time, so she probably didn't remember.

"Oh definitely. I don't remember the old days.

channeling bad comedy

While I tried to convince her to wear an outfit that was not pink, she grimaced and said, "Yeeaaaah, white's not really [air quote]my color[/air quote]."

transparency is good and bad

She leaned back, blew me a kiss in a super fake dramatic way.

I looked at her funny.

She tilted her head and smiled and said, "I'm just a schmoozer."

setting herself up for disappointment

We leave soon for a family reunion trip in Mexico.

A couple months ago, she made this at school:



Today, I mentioned the whole trip and how fun it would be for her to hang out with her many cousins. She was a little more excited about something else.

"Yeah, the cousins will be fun, but I totally want to see some eagles eating rattlesnakes."

can we get a redo?

Today, she is four. The morning started off well. She was thrilled to discover her gifts, declared it the "wonderfullest" birthday ever, and got ready to take some blueberry muffins to school for her birthday treat. She was a little hoarse this morning, but nothing too bad. As we walked out the door, she complained of a stomach ache.

40 minutes after I dropped her off at school, I got a call to come back and get her and the muffins because she had a fever. Came home, set up shop in the playroom so she could lounge and rest and still play a little. Canceled the family party scheduled for later tonight. Got her lunch ready and delivered, and then she ran up to me and told me that our cat was chasing a chipmunk through the living room.

Then I saw the cat dragging the wriggling chipmunk towards us, and being a tough broad, I screamed and holed the girls and myself up in the master bedroom and called for testosterone backup.

Caroline insisted on going and intervening in the cat/chipmunk ordeal. She wanted to break bread and get them peaceful, only she suggested they break pretzels since chipmunks love pretzels. When I explained that our cat was probably going to play the role of reaper to the chipmunk, Caroline got really upset.

"But Mama, I have to go down there. I have always wanted a pet chipmunk, and Bijoux is a -- what's that word where one animal kills other animals? Predator! -- Bijoux is a predator to chipmunks. My birthday is ruined because I can't even have a blueberry muffin treat at school, my family party is canceled, and now we're going to have to have a chipmunk memorial!"

The chipmunk escaped. It's still somewhere in the house, and while this might be a relief to Caroline (not to me), she got some bad news that she has croup and has to take steroids again. She hates the taste of them and was trying to negotiate out of them. The doctor gave her a choice of one shot of them or 3 days of drinking them. She chose to drink them. But the misery of this day is not lost on her. She held up a lollipop given to her by the pitying doctor and said very woefully, "Happy birthday to myyyyyself."

on the eve of four

Caroline and I were driving around running errands. I told her this is the last day she will ever be three, and I asked her to tell me the three things she likes best about herself. They are as follows (verbatim, of course):

1. I am really caring to people, and I love people because they are so different and interesting. And I just love them. So it's good to be kind and friendly.

2. I like that I have a good imagination and make wonderful pretend chef food that tastes better than you can believe.

3. I have great style. You know, my fashion.