“Mommy, I’m not afraid of the PizzaMonster anymore.”
“Why not, Helen?”
“Because, he goes to school. He goes to high school.”
“Which high school does he go to?”
“The one by his house.”
“By his house? Does he walk there? Is it close enough to walk?”
“No, he doesn’t walk. He doesn’t have feet.”
“He doesn’t have feet? But how does he get to school?”
“He just drives.”
“How does he drive? Does he have arms?”
“Yes, like ME!”
“The PizzaMonster has arms like you?”
“Yes. And [indicates her face] this… And… and… hair! In pigtails!”
“Wow. The PizzaMonster has pigtails.”
“Yeah. Like ME!”
“The PizzaMonster is really a girl.”
“A girl, huh?”
“Yeah. And her name is Emily.”
To sum up: Helen is no longer afraid of the PizzaMonster, who has no feet, goes to high school by HER house, and drives there with her arms and face and pigtails, and her name is Emily.
Never mind what I said before. 😀
Helen comes up to me this afternoon and says, “Look, Mommy, I have a bleed.”
Which translates roughly into “I have scratched this bug bite until it started bleeding just so I could get a band-aid.”
You know, I’m grateful when the world slaps my swollen mommy-head back down to Earth.
In the car yesterday as we were coming back from the grocery store, Helen observed, “Mommy! That car doesn’t have a ROOF on it!”
Helen is three. Her sentence structure is pretty amazing, I think.
Another conversation from last night: “Daddy, the pizza monster was trying to eat the children. There were THREE children: Jimmy, Carl, and Sheen.” (She had been a little spooked by an episode of “Jimmy Neutron” on Saturday afternoon while we waited for Jerry to get home).
I love that she speaks so well. I’d love to also think that it was our doing, that by speaking to her as if she could understand every word we say, we have taught her to enunciate and speak very well for her age. However, I think it’s more realistic that she’s just wired to be extremely verbal, whereas Alice is wired to climb to the highest point in a room and then cry because she can’t figure out how to get down.
I’ve been up pretty much since 3am.
It started with Logic snouting me, which usually means that he needs to go out. So we went out. He peed on a tree, and that’s all. I was ready to kill him, but we walked around to the back of the house and I thought maybe it was the venue preventing him from performing, but no. He peed on a few more trees, and we came back inside.
The commotion apparently woke Helen, who was in our room at about 3:30. I took her back downstairs and changed her into a dry diaper, putting a towel over the damp spot on her sheets, and invited the dogs into her room for the remainder of the night (she likes that).
Then I went back upstairs and TRIED to go back to sleep. Of course, I couldn’t. I obsessed about my surgery on Thursday. New thing to fret about and tell the anesthesiologist… When they intubate a patient, they pull the bottom jaw outwards to open the airway. I have had TMJ surgery, and doing this could be damaging. So I laid there and obsessed about that for a long time. I’m sure it will be fine. I’m sure I’ll be drugged so I don’t care, and drugged afterwards so that any pain and swelling in my joints from the intubation process will not be problematic. But it doesn’t mean I can’t lie around and obsess in the meantime.
Finally got back to sleep around 5:15, I’d guess, and Helen was in our room again at 6. At 6:20 I just got up.
I wish that child weren’t such a light sleeper. It’s annoying. She always has been, though. Even as an infant. Even as a FETUS.