Paul wants to know, “Is every single thing in the world a shape?”
Overheard from my work-from-home desk.
Annie, in crisis: Oh NO!!
Bryan, soothing: Oh Paul, that’s Annie’s toy.
Paul, explaining calmly with 3-yo logic: No, see, but I WANT it.
The scene: in the bathroom, a mother attempts to get her 5-going-on-15-year-old daughter to stop playing and start the bedtime routine.
Mother, chipper: As you know, Annie, tomorrow’s another home day, so we’ll have lots of time for that later.
Daughter, with pathos: Well as you know, Mom, I hate doing things LATER!!!
(Daughter storms off and flings herself on the bed.)
On our walk this morning, Annie told me she had an idea for Sous’ next birthday present. Earnestly:
“Come here so she doesn’t hear!”
I bend down to the stroller to receive this secret. Lips against my ear:
“It’s a—what’s her favorite color?”
“I don’t know, she’s a… Um, red?”
“It’s a RED, CHEWY STICK!!”
Me: What are you up to, Paul?
Paul: Well, I’m feeling a little bit playish. Will you play with me?
Paul calls the weather radar: rain-yard. As in, “Can I see the rain-yard on your phone?” That is all.
What I’d like to remember from this slog of a day: watching Annie discover and explore Russian nesting dolls for the first time. Talking to herself: wow, that is so cool!
Just watched Annie lick melted popsicle off Paul’s chin.
Now she’s telling stories. Here’s one:
“Once upon a time, Paul pooped on a tow truck, and he had to go to the doctor. That’s the end.”
Annie: Mom, I love you more than a pony hops.