Time out

OOOOOOhhhhhhhhhhh.... my baby just had her first time out. She's really a big girl now.

According to her Nana, she was coloring on some blank paper. She paused, went and got a book (a lovely book with a girl named Maya in it), opened it and colored in the book. Nana stopped her but it was too late. The book was ruined. Nana showed her the book and pointed out the scribbles. She told her that books were not to be colored and had her sit in her little chair for a timeout. She sat and giggled. Nana explained that she was serious. So Animalia sat and slumped and made a sad face because she knew that Nana was serious.

That'll teach her.

Hot Babao?

So the Daht was telling me about an 18 month old who "used to eat hot dogs every day but lately she's been so picky!" and the Animalia picked up on two words... hot and dog. Now, the Animalia is totally mimicking us left and right lately, picking up on a word or two to repeat but this was classic. She said "Hot babao?" and we laughed and laughed because it was hilarious. And she laughed and laughed because she knew it was hilarious. And then she went to check on Cooper, to make sure he wasn't too hot.

Nana's baby

Are you the nana's baby? The Animalia nods vigorously.

Are you the mama's baby? The Animalia nods her tiny head.

Are you the tata's baby? She shakes her head no. He lifts her up and says that of course she's his baby and she shakes her head again with a little smile on her face.

Are you da's baby? She nods once. Shakes her head back and forth once. Moves her head in a noncommittal circle.

She knows how to play all of us. Like a violin.

Castigando

The scene: The Animalia is playing outside. A large orange tabby approaches. She is excited. She starts to wave to him.

Animalia (in her best, most softest, nicest drag voice): Hi! Meow! Hi!
Cat: Meow?
Animalia: Hi! Meow! Nice. Nice. Hi! Meow!

The cat evaluates the situation. Animalia's tiny hands are like little squeezy weapons. He hesitates.

Animalia (doing the reaching out thing): Meow. Nice.

The cat decides the best course of action is to slowly move away from the desiring hands of the tiny, dangerous child.

Animalia: ¡NO! ¡NO! ¡NO MEOW!

Thus, the cat is put on notice but remains safely unsqueezed and unsmooshed for another day.

Sharing is caring OR Food is love OR Mama couldn't share til baby came along

A few years ago, 2004 I think, I, along with the Da (before he was the Da) and the Tío Tío (before he was the Tío Tío) went on a trip to visit the Nina (before she was the Nina). One night, after some drinking, we ate at this place called the Diner. It was delicious and fantastic and they had something called the Croque and Dagger. It's kind of a take on the Croque Monsieur but different. I didn't finish this Croque and Dagger, but it was delicious, so I took a box back to the Nina's place. When we got there, I hid it in the back of the fridge. I knew that the Da would eat it if he woke up before I did and it was too good to share. We all fell asleep.

In the very early morning, I woke up. Everyone else was still asleep. I had to eat it, my Croque and Dagger. I figured I had a tiny bit of time before he woke up and I had to share. So I heated it, shoveled it down, threw away the container, and fell back asleep. I woke up later and he was already awake. "I looked for your Croque and Dagger," he said, "and I couldn't find it." "HAHAHAHA!" I laughed, "I knew you would, so I hid it, then woke up in the middle of the night and ate it so I wouldn't have to share!"

Here's the thing... sometimes I really really like something, as in a food something, and I know if I don't eat it, he will and then I'll want it later and he'll say he ate it and I'll be irritated. It's all completely insane, I know.

So you may be asking why this post is here instead of a dysfunctional relationship blog. Well, here's the thing: I used to hate to share my food. And now I share it every single day. With the Animalia. And I don't even care. Because she's tiny and she NEEDS food. And she LOVES food. I love to hear that food-related giggle and excitement. I love that she loves the good stuff, vegetables and brown rice and sushi and sopita and frijoles and pan and curry and pasta.

This is a testament to the love I have for my daughter. And the ridiculousness that is my relationship with her Da. Poor him.

A tantrum that I love

Yes, there is a certain type of tantrum that gives me the giggles. The Animalia yells. She gently tumbles to the floor. She rolls halfheartedly back and forth. She realizes that the wood floor is slipperly against her pants. Then she starts sliding herself backward and forward, like a snake. She realizes that I'm cracking up. She makes a slightly angry noise at me for laughing at her. She hates that, when people laugh at her anger. She slides herself around the floor a minute. She stops, seeming to reconsider her tantrum. She makes one last halfhearted scowl and grunt. She's happy sliding around. And then she gets up and goes about her business like she wasn't throwing a tantrum in the first place.

¡No, Elmo!

Me: ¿Que 'stas haciendo?
Animalia: Abacoadabashabi Elmo
Me: ¿Y luego que pasó?
Animalia: (nodding) kishiconabowa Nana Tata.
Me: Oooohhhh. ¿Y despues?
Animalia: cacowi vrroooom vroom babao. ¡Elmo! ¡NO!

I think Elmo, you know, her best friend, was getting on her nerves.