My baby doll is running, skipping, and propelling herself in various ways across the kitchen to the living room and back. She just told me, "Mama, I just hop. Watch me!" Then she hops and says, "Is that fun, is that cool?" When I say yes, she says, "Oh." Then she sees the wet wipes on the table.
"Could I use a wipe?" She gets one without an answer from me (I'm typing) and proceeds to wipe her nose and then the glass slider door. Repeat. She's 2 1/2. Can I make her that age forever? Right here? I'll try.
A minute later, she asks, "cracker please?"
I say, "ok, with cheese." She stands on her tippy toes to grasp a tippy cracker box on the edge of my cluttered counter top. Then she comes over, holds one end of the package up to her eyes and directs the other at me and says, "Mama, say cheese!"
Then she examines the serving suggestions on the side of the box and notices an almond on a cracker nestled in with an apple slice and a sprig of parsley. "Oh, I can't have nuts," D says. So that settles that. I don't have to feed my daughter today, nor mess with any fancy presentation.
Except then she sees the aging gingerbread house on the table. I've been picking candy off of her masterpiece for days now. At first, my harvesting caused D some distress. "Mama, those candies are decoration!" After I shared my bounty with her, however, D's opinion changed. Now she asks, "Mama, could I have a ball of those candies?"
"Sure, I say, what color?" She requests green, and morning snack is accomplished, until my growing girly girl informs me that she also likes purple and pink. When I say no, she begins to chew on the laptop power cord and I must abort this post due to melt down. The days are long but the years are short, they tell me.