“Grandma, you’re OLD!”
—What every grandmother wants to hear (repeatedly) when being greeted by her granddaughter
It's Hard to Drive with Laughter-Induced Tears in Your Eyes
- On the way to the sitter's this morning, apropos of nothing...
- Dictator: Mama, you not touch the penis.
- Me: ...
- Dictator: You not touch the penis, Mama.
- Me: I... pardon?
- Dictator: Only look at the penis, Mama. And smell them. But not touch the penis.
- Me: Do you mean the peonies? In the garden?
- Dictator: Yes! No touching the penis. Just smelling and looking.
- Me: Peonies, bebe. Can you say pee-ah-nees?
- Dictator: Is what I said! Penis!
Yo Mama
Our house sounds like a test-facility for “your mom” jokes lately.
We’ve been teaching Dictator that the Husband and I have parents just like she does. She seems to have grasped that Grandma is also my mother, but whenever we talk about Grandma’s upcoming visit, she asks, “Oh, your mom?”
She’s also been throwing out completely random references to my mother, and this morning, the first words out of her mouth were “Where your mom?” (Grandma doesn’t arrive for a few more days.)
The best, though, was earlier today: I was grumbling that the yogurt in the fridge was old, and Dictator said, “Oh. Like your mom?”*
Poor Grandma.
*When asked to clarify, Dictator said, “Like your mom like yogurt like you like yogurt?” Nice cover, kid.
Well, not exactly. I mean, yes, but… Sigh.
Sometimes I spritz my skinny jeans with water and toss them in the dryer for a few minutes to reduce Baggy Knee Syndrome because I am too lazy to do laundry a genius.
Dictator obviously thinks highly of my lazy genius trick, because the first thing out of her mouth when we arrived at the sitter’s this morning was a very loud, very proud: “Mama wetted her pants!”
She’s Very Firm in Her Convictions
A friend of mine popped by for a few minutes this afternoon. After he left, Dictator said, “Mama, that not your friend.” I told her that yes, he was my friend. “Nooooo… Not your friend! That Daddy’s friend!”
This went back and forth for a while. I figured she was drawing some gender lines and had decided that Padraic couldn’t be my friend because he was (ew!) a boy, so I finally asked why he could be the Husband’s friend but not mine.
“Because he too tall, Mama!” (Duh.)
Heightist.
I Stand Corrected
- Me: Hello, beautiful.
- Dictator: Mama! You so silly! I not beautiful. I Dictator!
I Think We May Have to Tone Down the Emphasis on Using the Potty
- Dictator (who is obsessed with my wedding rings): Daddy give you dis ring?
- Me: Mm hmm. Do you know why Daddy gave me this ring?
- Dictator: Because you go poop on the potty!
Wingman
The Husband took Dictator grocery shopping yesterday. At the till, he left her sitting in the front of the cart while he put everything onto the belt, and she started chatting with the (young and apparently quite attractive) woman in line behind them.
Dictator turned around and asked the Husband if the woman was his friend. He told her that he didn’t know the lady; that she was just doing her grocery shopping like they were. Dictator said, “oh” and turned back to the woman. That’s when the Husband heard this:
“You want be friends wif my Daddy?”
Daddy doesn’t need a wingman, baby. But it’s nice to know that you’ve got his back.
So That’s Where Babies Come From!
After Dictator emptied the contents of her entire dresser onto her bedroom floor, I took the opportunity to curse a blue streak to go through her clothes and put the smaller things away. One of the bins I grabbed already contained a bunch of baby shoes, which prompted this little exchange:
Dictator: Mama, I need a baby.
Me: You do?
Dictator: Mm hmm. You needa make a baby for me.Me: And how am I supposed to do that?
Dictator: Wif a magic wand!
