He’s a bug named Olivia, who she’s been carrying around in an empty coffee tin since she found him this morning.
Dictator thinks he’s really shy. I don’t have the heart to tell her that Olivia’s not shy so much as he’s really, really dead.
- Me: Ooh! Did you send me flowers?
- Dictator: No, I didn't!
- Me: You didn't? Well, how did these get here?
- Dictator: I don't know.
- ...after unwrapping the arrangement...
- Dictator: Oh, those flowers are beautiful! Yes, I sended you those!
- Dictator: Mama, why you have those lines next to your eyes?
- Me: They're wrinkles that tell you that I smile a lot.
- Dictator: Oh. I thinked they are wrinkles that say you are OLD.
- Dictator: Mama, today I wish to be a boy.
- Me: Okay. How come?
- Dictator: I just want to try it.
- Me: Cool.
- Dictator: And you will call me Olivia.
- Me: Solid name for a boy.
- Dictator: I know! It's the prettiest! Wait. What is 'prettiest' for a boy?
- Me: Usually 'handsome'. But I think boys can be pretty, too.
- Dictator: Okay! Today I will be Olivia. The prettiest boy in the earth!
Dictator tried to marry me off to a slightly older gentleman at the grocery store tonight.
It went from vaguely cute to “hahahaha shut up, kid” to “where’s the nearest hole I can climb into and/or throw my child into?” in about 0.6 seconds.
At one point, she insisted we kiss. I asked her what she thought Daddy would say to that. “Him would say… Let me watch and then I’ll decide.”
- Dictator [waiting in line at Starbucks]: Daddy, you got your money?
- Husband: I have MY money. Do you have YOUR money?
- Dictator: No... I don't have any money!
- Husband: Well, I have money for MY stuff. How are you going to pay for your stuff?
- Dictator: You're going to pay for my stuff.
- Husband: I am? And why should I do that?
- Dictator: Because you're a sucker.
Dictator just threw up the bulk of her dinner. Twice. We made it to the toilet the second time, after which she laid down on the bathroom floor and said, “I’m just going to sleep right here.”
I was in college before I learned that trick.
Dictator asked me yesterday why my breasts were so big and hers were so small, which led to an explanation of the biology of feeding babies with boobs. Partway through, I realized that she’s probably never seen anyone breastfeed a baby, which was clearly evident by the look on her face as she stared at my chest and said, “You feeded me milk with your breastses?!”
So I explained that I didn’t actually feed her with my breasts, but that generally, mothers make milk for their babies, etc., etc.
Dictator: “But you make my milk for me all the time! Like when you make me strawberry milk for breakfast!”
Me: “Well, that’s not—”
Dictator: “So you can make milk. Maybe today you will make me strawberry milk from your breastses?!”
No. Definitely not.
- After cleaning up the kitchen...
- Me: See? Isn't it easier when we both do it together?
- Dictator: Not as easy like when you just do all of it and I just watch you.
- Dictator: May I have my pink shirt and my green pants? And then I want some Froot Loops and strawberries. And may I watch Iron Man on the 'puter?
- Me: Yes, yes, no, yes and only after you're finished eating. You're very demanding this morning.
- Dictator: What's 'manding?
- Me: Demanding. It's when you ask for a lot of stuff all the time or all at once.
- ... an hour later ...
- Me: Bebe, put on your boots and your jacket, please. And bring your lunch kit here.
- Dictator: Mama, you is very 'manding.
- Me: Do you want breakfast now, or do you want to wait until Daddy gets up?
- Dictator: Um... Now. I don't want to talk to Daddy at breakfast.
- Me: You don't? Why not?
- Dictator: Because Daddy doesn't talk at breakfast... He only says [grunting & grumbling noises].
After her story tonight, Dictator insisted on tucking me into her bed. She was so sweet - arranging the blanket just so, tucking it under my feet, and then rubbing my back for a minute before giving me a hug and leaning in to kiss me on the forehead.
Then she reached over, grabbed her pillow, and attempted to smother me with it.
I’m going to have to keep a special eye on her when I’m elderly and frail.
“Mama, you are the most beautifullest.”
- Me: Bebe, what are all your friends names?
- Dictator: Gloria, Kennedy, Montana... Hmm... Dictator...
- Me: You're your own friend?
- Dictator: Most of the days. But when I's not my friend, I just say, "that's not nice!" and I be my friend again.