Errand Buddy

B has been fired from her position as my errand buddy.  Because she stinks at that job.

Most trips begin with whining, resistance, and stalling and end with wailing and gnashing of teeth.  Literally.

A trip to Lowe's comes to mind where I had to buy one item.  Only one.  We were in the store for 10 minutes.  B did her best to make it take an hour because, instead of letting me read the labels on the polyurethane, she tried climbing the shelves and pulling down as many cans as she could reach.  When we got to the check out lane, B was having a fit about wanting to carry the can of polyurethane which was entirely too heavy for her.  Then she whined about buying the candy that they so kindly had displayed right at child eye level.  Then she wanted my credit card.  Then she wanted to push all the buttons on the credit swiper pad.  Then she stripped off her jacket, insisting she was too hot.

When we were about to leave, I tried to reason with her about just how cold it was outside.  (Think 30ish degrees.)  I tried to put her jacket back on.  She screamed and cried.  I tried putting her coat on.  She screamed and cried.  I just love it when I get to deal with toddler illogic in front of an audience.  Such fun!

So I scooped her up and put her in a shopping cart, short sleeves and all.  She was protesting and crying and trying to stand up.  I was holding her down so I could drive the cart out of the store.  When we finally got outside, the winter wind hit her and took her breath away.  She looked at me accusingly and began wailing about how cold it was. 

Well, what do you know?  Mom was right.

Another time, I took her grocery shopping.  I should never take her grocery shopping.  Not ever.

She won't sit docilely in the shopping cart.  She wants the race car carts where she can sit up front and drive one or both of the steering wheels.  I always buckle her.  Which usually buys me a whopping 7 minutes to tackle my list of 49 or 57 or 72 grocery items.  Right.  I didn't get very far.

She began wailing that she wanted out.  I ignored her until her wailing reached an unacceptable level.  I can always determine that level by the quantity of reproachful looks I get from the fellow store customers.  The ones that are there shopping by their blessed selves.

So, I succumbed to those reproachful glances and let B free of her restraints.  And I did what any good mom is supposed to do with a bored toddler in a store.  Get her involved.  I had her help me pick the best apples, half of which came home with big bruises because she missed the bag.  And I had her help me find the mini m&ms we needed for a party.  Where she got distracted by the bulk candy in the same aisle.  Which is conveniently placed at just the right height for toddlers to reach their grubby little hands in the bins.  She was making such a ruckus, I let her pick one kind.  We put a few in the bag and I let her hold it.  Every once in a while, when her hands are full, she makes a little less mischief. 

Right.  She began chewing through the bag to get to the candy.  I removed the bag from her possession.  She began wailing and we made a rapid exit from the candy aisle. 

I did my best to distract her by directing her gaze towards all the raw meat.  Mmmm, delish!  She forgot about the candy, fortunately, and wanted to be the leader and have me follow her.  That was a challenge because my cart was getting so full it would barely turn corners and it was piled so high that visibility was extremely poor.  (I really wish somebody would make carts sufficient for families of 5 or more.  It's like a nightmare tetris puzzle trying to fit in all the food without smashing the bread or making the meat leak.)  I may or may not have run into B a few times with my overloaded cart.  And she got frustrated when I had to stop to add items to my cart.  So she started rolling around on the floor and whining that she wanted to GO HOME!  RIGHT NOW!  She completely ignored my requests for her to get up.

I forced calm and got down on my knee to explain a few things.  Like how dirty the floors are and how we just shouldn't roll on the floor in stores.  Like how she should just behave and listen to me so we could leave the store sooner.  She didn't care about any of the explanations I was giving her in my patient-laden Mommy voice.  And she wasn't about to stop misbehaving.  So I had to spend some time rearranging the whole cart, dumping all the bread into the front of the racecar to make room for her to sit in the cart, facing me. 

But she wasn't going to sit there willingly, so I did what any good mom does in this situation.  I grabbed a box of fruit snacks and opened it so she could have a pack and sit there docilely so I could get the heck out of the store.  Previously, I never let my kids eat food in the store.  I always made them wait until we'd paid for it.  Until now.  B is giving me a run for my money and I'm finding that my standards in a lot of areas are getting decimated.

A few packs of fruit snacks later, we were finally out of the store and the food was loaded in the van.  When I tried to buckle B in her carseat, she began wailing and thrashing and arching her back so I couldn't buckle her.  But I was done.  I didn't care why she was crying.  I stuffed her into her seat, clicked those blessed buckles and started driving home. 

After 10 solid minutes of screaming and crying that she wanted to go back (seriously?!) to the grocery store, my heart softened a little and I asked her why she wanted to go back.

"Did we forget to buy something?"  This was my attempt at distracting her to help her calm down.  I'm thinking maybe it backfired.

"YES!!  Forgot Life cereal!"  She wailed amidst the sobbing.

I assured her over and over again that I bought several boxes of Life cereal.  R can't survive without Life cereal.  I never leave the grocery store without buying some.  But all my words fell on deaf ears.  She would not stop crying about going back to the grocery store to buy Life.

By this time, I had regained my sense of humor and was chuckling over just how ridiculous toddlers are.  We pulled into the driveway and I carried my blubbering baby inside.  I helped her settle down with a snack and a drink and then began the process of hauling all the groceries in and putting them away.

Amazingly, I'd managed to buy everything on my list . . . except for Life cereal.

Well, what do you know?  Mom was wrong.  But, whatever.  She's still fired.

It's good that she's cute.  It helps to counteract her not-so-cute behavior. 

This little eccentric of mine is why we were quite late for church on Mother's Day.

Can you tell that she did her own hair and picked her own shoes?  I tried to talk her out of the rain boots for a while, mainly because they weren't very clean.  But then I gave up and took her outside to take some pictures.  I can't say that Shaggy quite supported that decision of mine, but these moments are so fleeting.  And after we took a few pictures, she voluntarily kicked off the boots and ripped the flashdance headband out of her hair.  Win/win.

Bedtime Routine

It's 7:47 pm.  This is the conversation I hear coming from the bathroom.

Shaggy: OK, sit down and shoot pee out!  Are you peeing?  Good job.  Baby, don't stand up!!  Clean up in aisles 4 and 7!!  Stop it!  Don't stand IN the pee!  YOU GUYS!!  Get out of here, Ruger!  Don't put the football in the pee!  COME ON!!  Now you're putting your pants in the pee.  Come on, B!  I have to get taxes done or I'm gonna go to jail.
B:  You gonna go to jail?
Shaggy:  Yeah, if I don't get taxes done.
B:  You a bad guy?
Shaggy:  No, not a bad guy.
B:  Yeah.  You bad guy.
Shaggy:  Let's get your diaper out of your butt crack.
B:  My butt crack?
Shaggy:  Yeah, they're twisted.

Then the door to the little girls room (where I was hiding) opens and this is what I see.

Shaggy attempts to wrestle pajama pants on B.  B is trying to pull them off.  Neither one is winning.  Shaggy gives up on the pants and tries to get her shirt off.  But it won't come off because it keeps getting stuck on the swim goggles she's wearing.  Shaggy pulls back and forth, back and forth.  But that shirt won't come off.  B starts to fuss because she probably assumes that her head is going to be pulled off  before the shirt and the goggles.  The situation is so ridiculous that we all start laughing.  B joins in.  And that's when Mommy takes over.

Me:  Which jammies do you want to wear?  Pink hearts or flowers?
B:  Those way too tiny.
Me:  No, they're just your size.
B:  No.
Me:  Just pick one.  Let's put on pink hearts.

I try to wrestle the pink heart pajama pants on her.  She keeps turning around and pulling her diaper open.

B:  In here.
Me:  No, we don't put your jammie pants in your bum.
B:  Yeah, do!  Need horsie tail.
Me:  Baby, play time is over.
B:  No.  Me horsey.
Me:  We have to get jammies on first.  Then we can put on a horsey tail.

B keeps turning around, avoiding the pajama pants.

Me:  OK, let's try flowers.
B:  Yeah.  Fowlers.  Those my tail.
Me:  No!  Jammies first!

I finally get the flower pajamas on.  Then I fold the pink heart pajama pants in half and tuck them in the back of her flower pants.  B pulls them out.

B:  That way too big.

She folds them in half and gives them to me.

B:  Here.  Like this.

I put them in again, exactly like I did the first time.  B prances out of the room, neighing.

Me:  Wait!  Come pick a story!!

We chase down our two girls who were supposed to be in bed 20 minutes ago.  It's not easy catching horsies.  Then we read them stories, and say prayer.  This is what I hear during the prayer.

B:  (gasp!)  I lost my brush!  Have to go get it.
Me:  Shhh!  Here it is.
B:  Oh, my brush!

The prayer ends and we try to get B and R into bed.  B is combing R's hair and protests when I try to scoop her into bed.

B:  No, wait!  Have 'oo comb R's hair first!
Me:  No, baby.  We have to get in bed.
Shaggy:  Get a dolly.
B:  Yeah! 
R:  That's MY brush!
Me:  R, hush!
Shaggy:  Where's Anna?
B:  OK, that dolly. 

We put her in bed.  She squirms to stand up and brush her doll's hair.  R races out of the room and reappears shortly, carrying her giant stuffed deer.

Shaggy:  Oh, dear!  Goodnight deer.  Goodnight Anna.  Goodnight R.  Goodnight B.

Then he makes a hasty exit.  R is fixing her blanket.  B is combing her doll's hair.  I turn the lights off.

B:  No!!  Daddy turn lights off.
Me:  He can't.  He went downstairs to feed the dogs.  (And to get away from you crazies.)  Lay down so I can give you kisses.

They don't comply.  Surprise.  "OK.  Night, night."  I start to leave the room.

R:  No, wait!
B:  Kisses!  Kisses!

They finally lay down.  I tuck them in and give them kisses.

B:  Daddy kisses!!
Me:  He's downstairs.
B:  DADDY KISSES!!
Me:  OK, later.
B:  NO!!!  DADDY!!!
Me:  OK!  IN A MINUTE!!  (deep breath)  Goodnight, girlies.
B:  Goodnight Mommy.
Me:  I love you.
B:  I love you, Mommy.
Me:  I love you, B.
R:  I love you, Mommy.
Me:  I love you, R.
R:  I love you so, so, so, so much!
B:  I love you so, so, so, so much!
Me:  Goodnight, babies.  I love you.  Stop talking!

I close the door and hear a continued chorus of goodnights and I love you's.

Later, long after they are supposed to be asleep, I hear them talking and giggling and exclaiming over something or other.  And I  know that I should sush them.  But I can't.  First, I don't want to engage them for another minute.  Second, I know that moments like these are the glue that will hold them together once they are grown.  Provided we let them live that long.

Remote Control Sister

Apparently, Christmas was simply too far away for J to have to wait for the desire of his heart--an awesome remote control car.  So, he took matters into his own hands and created a remote control sister.

Who, surprisingly, was completely obedient.  That must have been a seriously strong remote he was using.  J's little hand held device would issue various voice commands.  Sit.  Stay.  Come.  Lay down.  Run around in circles.  And R would obligingly obey.

Their little charade was going on for a good while before I really began paying attention to what they were doing.  When there's harmony, sometimes it's better to just leave them be.  But it became too entertaining and I had to watch.  Then I had to grab the camera.

J was using R's little music studio to record voice commands to be played back via the detachable device.  He was roaming all over the house with her trailing obediently behind.  Like a puppy.  Which was apparently the very same creature she was portraying.

Sometimes they ran into some technical difficulty and we'd hear B wailing or singing or somebody saying something that didn't make any sense.  Then J would race back to his studio to fix it before remote controlling his little sister some more.

They were having such fun together,

that J even showed her some affection.  That is a rare treat, indeed!  Even if it was just a dog pat.

And then, as suddenly as it started, it was over.  The remote no longer worked.  The connection had failed.  The sister refused to be controlled.  Surprise, surprise.

Behind that sweet little face hides a meltdown monster who strikes like lightning and lasts like summer thunderstorms and is as stubborn as all get out.

She goes from the above, to this, in zero seconds flat.

All because of something so small and mundane as a broken crayon. 

Or sometimes it's because someone gave her a blue cup at dinner.  Oh, the outrage!  Or maybe somebody dared to put some food on her plate before she gave the ok.  Or they were nice enough to set her breakfast bowl on the table for her but cruelly gave her the wrong kind of spoon.  We seem to have a whole lot of thoughtless and mean people around here. 

Poor R.  She has to endure so much.  I sure wish she'd learn to endure it a little more gracefully.  Or that she'd respond more consistently to J's remote control.  I could really use a reliable meltdown dissipation button.  We all could.

Because these little sister's out-of-the-blue horrendous meltdowns are getting rather hard to endure.

The Meanest Family on the Planet

Poor little B is currently living with the meanest family on the planet.  Because there is so very much that we will not let her do.  The things that she most desperately wants to do.  This is a developmental stage also known as toddlerhood (and perhaps later as adolescence).

We won't let her play with scissors.  We won't let her open the knife drawer to satisfy her curiousity about what's inside.  We won't let her grab the glass dishes and toss them into the sink.  Or onto the floor.  Or wherever else her little arm can fling them. 

We won't let her eat dog food (at least not when we're aware that she is trying).  We won't let her drink the dog water with a stray straw she has found.  We won't let her drink the bathwater by the cup full.  We won't let her climb on the dishwasher lid so she can reach into the sink to scoop up the rinse water from the brownie batter which is swimming with chocolate and salmonilla.  Though she routinely climbs on the dishwasher lid to commit other less serious infractions. 

We heavily discourage her from eating off the floor like a dog.  And from scribbling on her siblings homework.  And from dumping her Daddy's chocolate protein shake all over the carpet.  And from squirming her way off the changing table. 

We don't let her flush the toilet three times, though she usually gets away with two when someone leaves the bathroom door open.  We don't let her stand on the toilet and turn on the hot water full blast, even though she's demonstrated that she's quite capable of doing so.  We don't let her rifle through the bathroom drawers to find the clippers and the lip balm and the floss which are irresistably fascinating.

We won't let her escape out the front door to run around unattended.  We won't let her sit in the doggie wading pool in the backyard.  We won't let her wander around in the hazard filled garage without supervision. 

We don't let her have Shaggy's work phone to call up his colleagues to say, "Dada, hi!"  We don't let her access the computer to make changes to our desktop that we're not sure how to fix.  But she does this one anyway.

But these are some of the things that we let her get away with, just because we're exhausted and it doesn't offer any imminent bodily harm.  Emptying out the box of sandwich bags.  Taking all the new, unsharpened pencils out of the desk drawer and walking around the house with them, scattering them behind her like a trail of bread crumbs.  Resetting J's alarm clock.  Dumping out the toy bucket.  Walking around with an open box of cereal.  Dancing on the kitchen table when our arms are nearby to catch her if she falls.  Playing in the relatively clean sink.  Putting the paper clips in and out, in and out, under a watchful eye.  Wandering around in the backyard without parental supervision, only sibling supervision--siblings who are remarkably good at raising the alarm.  "BABY ALERT!!  BABY ALERT!!"

 We hear this baby alert much more often than we'd like.  But we appreciate having so many alarmists around.  They have been responsible for B's rescue from many a tricky, and sticky (very, very sticky), situation.

 So, even though we may well be the meanest family on the planet, we sure love this little bundle of trouble that's been sent our way. And we hope to be able to keep her safe for many a year to come.

Meet Lisa

We occasionally acquire an unexpected house guest. Her name is Lisa and she looks uncannily like R. She always shows up out of the blue and simply announces her presence. Oddly enough, her visits line up exactly with R's trips to visit her family. They just switch places on a whim. Lisa is a very interesting little girl. 

Sometimes she's 9 and she shows up on her birthday. So naturally, we make her cupcakes to celebrate. 

She had a little too much fun with the sprinkles which ended up all over the table and then in her lunch.  She declared this PB&J the best one ever.

But lately, Lisa has been four. And she loves to stage photo ops for me.

She also loves horses, so her mom bought three for her. Naturally. I can understand why R might like to visit a home like that.

Lisa has a rather adventurous past. The details seem quite fluid, like this past is always changing. Or maybe, Lisa has such an amazingly full and rich history that she is only giving us tiny glimpses into her world. Here is her story, in her own words.

I'm Lisa. I'm three, I mean (looking at her fingers). . . I'm one, two, three, four. I'm four. I came to visit because R is gone to visit my family. In my family, I have one sister and three brothers. They're all named Lisa, too. Lots of things are named Lisa in my family. My mom and dad just work on the mountain sometimes. I'm going to visit you for 9 days and R is gonna stay for 9 days. I wanted to come visit you and my mom said yes. The clothes here fit me because I'm one, two, three, four. I'm 4. I'm R's age.

I was asleep and I heard someone knocking on the door. And then it came in and it stole my sword. And . . . umm, then I slipped it from the bad guys hand. And then the bad guy slipped it from my hand. And then I slipped it from the bad guys hand. And that part is over.

And then lots of bad guys came to our house and put it on fire. And then my whole family just went out and then went in. They went out for lots of minutes 'cuz the firemans was gonna come and then . . . ummm . . . and then we went back in the house. And then the fireman saw somebody's else house was burning so they went to their house but they didn't do it in time and it started burning down. My house was all broken inside and we called the fireman to come and fix it and they came in time and then the bad guys came and put it on fire. The bad guys want it on fire forever. And then the fireman fixed everything in our house. And then we got our swords out and made the bad guys go to jail.

And then we went in the backyard because we all wanted to check the baby tigers and then we let them out because the dog was in the house. And then we went back in and just my sister and me went out to play with the tigers. We were running around with all the baby tigers. And then we were running around in the grass with the baby tigers and the mom and dad tigers. And then my whole family came out and we wanted to run around the mountains with the tigers. And then we saw the bad guys came again. And then the bad guys went back in jail 'cuz they wanted to and they saw the baby tigers. There's this robot tiger in there and the bad guys thought it was real and they took it home. Then the bad guys went in the good guy's jail again. And then something like music started to turn on and they looked everywhere in the world to find that music and they saw a mountain moving back and forth and the bad guys were working the mountain that was moving and they were working the music. The bad guys wanted to have the whole world to steal all the jewels in the world. The music, like, makes all the people in the world think it's a ghost doing everything but it's the bad guys. One bad guy is making everything work so the good guys don't come. And then they got all the jewels. And then the good guys came back and they stole all the jewels and they put the bad guys in jail and they locked it super hard.

And then our family just, like, went out for a walk to find some jewels and then the good guys came and gave the jewels to our family because there were millions of jewels in the city and the mountains. Just a little bit more. And then we found lots of things and the bad guys tried to get out but they couldn't. The end. Nothing else.

Lisa is welcome in our home anytime, though we do miss R when she's gone.

Kiss Gun

J is a boy. All boy. And so he is going through the phase that all boys seem to go through in their journey to manhood.

He thinks kissing is gross.

He complains that all movies are kissing movies. And he groans loudly, "Eeeeewwww!" whenever a kissing scene surfaces. Which quite effectively destroys any feelings of romance that might otherwise be generated by watching kissing scenes in movies.

Being a boy, he also likes to build things. Particularly weapons. He has a set of trio blocks that make very interesting looking guns. Over the weekend, he built a sleep gun. When he pointed it at anyone, they were instructed to promptly fall asleep. It only worked about half the time. Unless he was aiming at me, when it worked much more often since I was passed out on the rocking chair trying to enjoy a little snooze time.

But somewhere in the middle of movie night, he decided to change his gun into a kiss gun. The movie did seem to have a larger than average number of kissing scenes.

So he retrieved his calculator, set it on his gun, and proceeded to push random buttons in order to "program" it as a kiss gun.

Then he took aim. And fired. Two shots, one for the kisser, one for the kissee. And he took great delight in watching us all succumb to the power of his kiss gun. Shaggy and I kissed loads of times. K & S tried to hide under blankets, but were dug out and thoroughly kissed. Baby B was delighted by all the attention and went around making smooching sounds at everyone. R played along wonderfully well, as always.

And during our whole hour long smooching session, J didn't utter a single Eeeeeeeewwww. Except once, when I grabbed his gun, fired at him and planted a big fat kiss on his forehead. He wiped it off in disgust and went back to shooting at everyone else.

Next, he says he's going to program his gun to be a chore gun, to make everyone do their chores. I'm holding my breath that it will work even better than the kiss gun.

Pumpkins, Tweens & Drama

Carving jack-o-lanterns is a family tradition of ours.  Usually, it coincides with halloween.  Makes sense, right?  But because we seem to be in the "buckle up because this ride NEVER stops" phase of our lives, we were a little late this year.

Ok, a lot late.  Once halloween passed us by, it took a good two weeks to find a free afternoon to carve up some pumpkins.  And we happened to be listening to Christmas music that afternoon.  That was a little surreal, but we didn't let it phase us.  R was super excited about the whole operation.  But then, that's her M.O.  She gets excited about everything. 

We're thinking her pumpkin ended up as a monkey.  With a little pumpkin puppet man walking on his head.  Shaggy was in charge, that's the only explanation I can give.

J did little more than consult when it came time to carve his pumpkin.  And he drew in an ear on the right.  We decided this pumpkin looks rather angry and fierce, like someone you would never want to mess with.  Shaggy doesn't put much stock in the traditional happy pumpkin faces, as you can see.  But when you're given such a perfect stem nose, you have to use it.  No man made pumpkin nose could be better than this one.

J was more into making pumpkin faces with spikey hair using leftover snack mix from his birthday party.  At least it looked happy.

Which is more than I can say for the pumpkin K and S were in charge of carving.

Yes, our lovely pair of tween daughters were less than enthusiastic about the whole endeavor.  They actually complain LESS when we make them scrub toilets.  Go figure.

K drew in the eyes and the nose and left the mouth for S.  K is all about making sure she isn't carrying more of the workload than her siblings.  S, as you can see, is all about expressing her true feelings through her artistic endeavors.  I had to laugh when I saw their pumpkin face mock up.  It was so reminiscent of the sad face pictures S used to draw and slip under our door when she thought she wasn't getting the proper amount of attention during her time of sadness.  Oh, the drama!

This is my reaction to drama.  Not very dramatic.

But the drama dished up by these two tweens on this particular afternoon was actually pretty entertaining.  Shaggy and I couldn't stop laughing.  Maybe not the most sensitive parenting approach, I'll admit.  But the drama eventually faded into into laughter.  I'll let the photos tell the story.

I think this pumpkin carving episode will go down in our family record books.  It's certainly one to remember.

And I will always remember how much these pumpkins made me laugh when I looked at them sitting on my counter.  I think that was probably my favorite part of this whole episode.  Laughing at these perfect pumpkins.  Sad, angry and goofy.  So perfect.  How can we ever top this?  How can we ever come up with more perfect jack-o-lanterns?

Balderdash

Language acquisition is such a tricky thing.   It's repetition, repetition, repetition.   With a whole lot of experimentation thrown in.   Which is the tricky part, but also the fun part.

The quirky ways that preschoolers find to communicate truly amaze me.   So I am usually in no rush to correct them.   Even though that is appalling to a handful of people I know.   Who can be vocal about their opinions.

But since they are not raising my children, I mostly ignore their criticism.   And enjoy the creative ways my little ones express themselves.   R has a whole arsenal of words that she has either made up or altered.   I love them all.   And I have thus far encouraged her use of them with no attempt at correcting her.   This language creativity is so short lived.   I want to enjoy every moment, every syllable.   Besides, I don't have to share her with the world.   Not yet.   Not for another whole week when she starts preschool.

For now, she's mine.   All mine.   And I will cherish that.

When R is hungry, she asks for a girly bar (granola bar) or a chupe (lettuce leaf).   When she is bored, she goes to find a bud (older brother or matchbox car--these are interchangeable) to play with.   Or she finds her 'puter (computer) to type with.   Or she lingers after a bath for a little slip-n-slide.   Or she makes up stories in which bad guys make a cameo appearance every single time.   Or she finds her ninjer bag (purse) with bracelet and toy lipstick to make herself a pretty ninjer.   When she wants to walk with us to take the other kids to school, she insists on wearing her back sack.   And on the way, she is sure to look for penny mennies.   When she's tired, she likes to sleep in the cotton (on the cot).   She said she had so much fun the night she did that.  Slept in the cotton, that is.

Sometimes she sees squirlers in the trees out in the wide, wide worlerd.   And one day a handicapped bus parked in front of the house.   She heard her siblings talk about it and came to give me a report.   She told me there was a handy-candy bus parked outside.   And later, when Shaggy came home, she reported to him that the handy-dandy bus had come to our house.

Tonight at dinner she informed us all that she can jump over the water all the way up to space.  Even when she's holding a bunch of peoples.  And later, she told us that she had used up all her bad power.  How?  By bouncing all day and night.  (She recently inherited one of those ride on bouncy balls from the attic fairy.)

These days she is always waving her arms around and sushing us because  "Wait!   I have to tell you sompin!"   Or,  "Shhhhh!   Shhhh!   Shhhh!   It's my turn to talk!"   Even when she is interrupting.   Of course, with seven people in the family, someone is pretty much always interrupting someone else.

When she says clap, it sounds like she's saying crap.

She is vocal and opinionated and decisive.   She is not possessive.   She is unbelievably excited to attend preschool.   Which is an unbelievable relief to me, considering my last preschool experience.

When her older siblings were getting ready to attend the first day of school, R got ready for school, too.   I thought she did a pretty good job.   Back sack?   Check.   Hair combed?   Check.   Ninjer bag?   Check.

Clothes?   Ummm . . . well, we have a week to work on that.