It's Too Much Very Hot

Sometimes the kid says stuff that is patently incorrect but is at the same time so cute that I can't bring myself to correct her. Earlier this morning she grilled up some plastic strawberries in a pink frying pan on her play stove. She then threw in a lemon for good measure. I was in the kitchen (the, um, real kitchen) as she came through, her face serious as she balanced the strawberries and lemon on a plastic yellow plate. "Don't touch it, Mama," she said solemnly. "It's too much very hot." She then delivered the piping hot fruit to her father.

Lately she also seems to end every sentence with "huh" or "okay." ("Gideon's a sassy boy, huuuuh?") One of her favorite activities is to grab a bottle of cologne from my bathroom and sniff it. This morning she took a bottle, pried the lid off, and said, "Don't take it away, OKAYYYYY?" P thinks she is trying to employ Jedi mind tricks on us. As if we are going to say, "Must not take it away, must allow toddler to play with expensive, breakable stuff."

We had a fairly uneventful weekend. On Friday evening P and I went to a local BrewFest event, which was a fundraiser for the humane society. A couldn't wait to get rid of us once the babysitter arrived. "Good BYE!" she kept saying. We had a good time, even though I'm not a beer drinker. There were half a dozen participating wineries, so I stood in line 489 times to get a single sip of wine each time.

On Saturday morning we headed to a little farm up north. The farm's website had given the impression that this was an elaborate set-up, chock full of fun, Halloweeny things to do. Instead we found four short rows of pumpkins and a small tent full of gourds. We were the first and only people there, and the proprietor was on us like white on rice. I don't know if we looked like rogue pumpkin thieves or what. We wanted to wander around a bit and take some photos, but she followed us around with a calculator and kept a careful tally of what we owed. Before long it seemed there was nothing left to do but pay the lady and leave. The pumpkins were nice ones, though - they don't even have that hideous deformed side that you usually have to avoid when you carve them.

After our pumpkin excursion I decided to take the kid to a storytime at a local children's bookstore. I didn't know if she would sit still or not, but I figured it was worth a shot. I have to say that the storyteller lady was very engaging, acting out each short tale with an impressive amount of enthusiasm. Eventually A wandered off and pooped her pants, so we didn't stay much longer after that. The bookstore had a shelf of adoption-related books, so I picked up a book that explains how families are made in lots of different ways. I tried to read it to her later that day, but apparently she doesn't care about diversity.

Our nap-related woes continue. She would not take a nap at all this weekend. Why, oh why, did I disassemble the crib so quickly???? Because I am a moron, of course. There is no threat on earth that can keep the kid in her bed. And she knows there is nothing I can do. So right now I've got an over-tired, over-stimulated two-year-old who is currently watching Pingu for the 18th time today. Her hair looks as though it was combed with a bolt of lightening (think, Bride of Frankenstein). The knee area of her tights has made it to her ankles. Her dress has collected some chocolate on one sleeve and some goobers from the dogs on the other. Every few seconds she climbs on top of her green stool and then jumps off, narrowly missing the dogs each time. P is working, so she's allllll mine tonight. How early is too early for bed? How early is too early for a nice glass of wine? It's early and yet . . . too late for my sanity. Ah, motherhood. It's okay, huh?

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