As I did a quick run through of the kitchen tonight it totally cracks me up that along with Mr. Potato Head pieces scattered in various and sometimes weird places, I also picked up her purse and a pirate eye patch.
For some reason a bunch of pencil eraser toppers are among her most prized possessions.
When I work I carry a brightly colored piece of lined paper in my pocked with the date so I can jot down important notes and reminders for the day that I will need to either get done or document later. I regularly find the same pieces of folded up papers in her purses, her lap desk, her drawers, and her pockets because she's going to be a nurse too, you know. Just ask her. Or an orthodontist.
Her favorite game is Life. We have fully indoctrinated her that when given the choice between going to work or going to school she chooses school every time. And she does. That makes me laugh.
Everything lately is, "When I am the mommy can I...?"
She got busted this morning for standing in her Princess heels on the kitchen counter. "I just needed a piece of candy." Had I attempted that maneuver I'd have broken something, but not her. She has no fear. None. We have to keep a chain lock on the front door to keep her from going down to check the mail or who knows what else. Last night it was moved up after she showed me how to unlock it. We live in a neighborhood where most people leave their doors unlocked, but to glance our front door you'd think we lived in the ghetto.
She regularly asks if she can drive.
She is my not so little Amazonian who is, due to a very high verbal ability and her height, mistaken for a little girl four or five but definitely not just turned three.
Before spreading out her crayons and coloring book she asked me if Porkchop was awake or asleep. When I told her he was asleep she sighs, "Oh good. I can work on some things." and sprawled out on the floor to color.
I worry about her and school. She's a little on the independent side. A LOT on the independent side, and even though she loves structure and is really sweet, and I have visions of her telling her first grade teacher where she can shove it. Knowing her she'll probably have been right too.
When I went to clean the bathroom I found a nasty mess in the garbage. I asked husband if he had been dumping the contents of the diapers in there that day. Scrunch pipes up, "No. I just peed and pooped in the can."
I spend most of the day just laughing or shaking my head. Lots of shaking my head.
Yesterday it was, "Next time we buy a baby brother can we get one who can talk to me?"
Scrunch is the only other person on the planet who rivals me in terms of her brother's favorite people. And next to her I'm chopped liver.
Her "Hey, Mom. I like you." are too well placed.
She's a crack up and she's got me worked. She knows it too.
This is why I started calling her Scrunch.
Her aunt's most recent comment on my Facebook was that if there were more Scrunches the world would be a better place. She might be on to something there. There is no one in this whole world like my Scrunch.
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