I Wan Fwen Fwies

When D3 was born I insisted that I was going to raise her as a vegetarian. For the first few months no one gave me much trouble, except in theory. I suppose it is possible that the lack of conflict was due to the fact that her life was sustained by milk alone for those first few months.

However, as she grew, we naturally starting adding solids to her diet. And the pressure from my family to let her decide whether or not to be a vegetarian for herself increased. I argued that I could raise her to smoke cigarettes too and when she is older, let her decide for herself if she wanted to be a smoker or not. That logic, to me seemed perfectly sane, and yet the reasoning escaped DH and my childrens' thought processes entirely.

When D3 was 1 year-old, DH "accidentally" fed her a chicken nugget. When I found out I was furious. However, with increased pressure, I soon relented and let them feed her animal flesh. Her diet has increasingly deteriorated from there.

However, I had not realized to what degree the deterioration had occurred until I went to fill a prescription at Rite Aid via the drive through. Or at least I attempted to fill the prescription.

D3 was settled comfrotably in the back seat of the car, when we pull up in the covered drive-thru lane. I believe it was the shade for the overhead cover that first alerted her to something a little abnormal in our errand running afternoon. Then she heard me roll down the window as the outside traffic noise became more apparant.

"I wan fwen fwies!" she yelled.

"Hello?" the paharmiscist asked.

"I wan fwen fwies!" she repeated.

"Hi," I began, "I'd like-"

"I wan fwen fwies!!"

"Sorry. I'm needing to-"

"I wan fwen fwies!!!"

"I came from the doctor's office and I have a -"

"Fwen fwies!!!!" "I wan fwen fwies!!!!"

"Um..." I briefly contemplated my limited options.

"I WAN FWEN FWIES!"

"You know what? I'll come back, in a few minutes-"

"FWEN FWIES! I WAN FWEN FWIES!!!!" She continued. All the way to McDonald's.

A Picture's Worth Three Words

One of my necklaces has a photo holder charm, inside of which I have a small picture of DH. The photo was taken on vacation, and with his relaxed face framed with an uncommon-for-him and slightly sexy goatee, the picture has become one of my favorites.

Tonight when I leaned over to zip D3's pajamas, she spotted the necklace and shouted in surprise,

"Is that Dad?"

"Yes," I confirmed, "Isn't he cute?"

"No!" she exclaimed while looking at me like I had just suggested she drive the car.

"I'm cute," she emphatically corrected.

Folks, it Doesn't Get Much Worse Than This

This afternoon my cell phone rang.

"Hello, Tonia!" I answered my neighbor's call energetically, after noticing the caller id.

"Mom, it's me, "D2 clarified.

"Why are you calling?" I asked.

"D3's ears are hurting her. I think it is because you never clean them and now they are all dirty inside."

"Ok, I'll come right home," I promised, as I began to wonder what my neighbor thinks about babies with dirty ears.

"And why are you calling me from Tonia's house anyway," I mistakenly inquired before she had a chance to hang up.

"You never paid our phone bill, so all our cell phones were shut off today," she shouted, although no one ever has any trouble hearing her at her normal volume.

"All right then. Thanks, Sweetie," I mumbled as I pushed the receiver closer to my ear hoping no one around me could hear her.

"So you're coming home? And you are going to look at D3's dirty ears?"

"Yes. Love."

"And you'll pay the phone bill and get our phones turned back on?" she repeated.

"Of course, Sweetie," I replied.

Then I listened to D2 hang up. I imagined my neighbor kindly smiling as D2 handed the borrowed phone (one with a paid-up bill) back to her and then I expect she gently walked D2 and her little sister with the dirty ears to the her front door, all the while full of pity for the neglected little ones.

Boogers Bug-her

While driving in the car, D3, buckled in her lounge recliner/car seat, suddenly shouted, "Mom!"

It is a little odd to me that someone so young calls me by that name. Even D2 and D1 still call my "Momma" and "Mommy". I am fairly certain that "Mom" is something your children call you when they become arrogant teenagers. Not when they turn two and start to talk.

Since I was driving and focused intently on the snowy winter roads, I ignored the salutation.

"Mom!" she shouted again - very distinctly. I continued to drive.

"Mom! she burst with even more gusto.

"What, Sweetie?" I finally replied.

"Here! Hold this for me," she demanded.

Musing to myself at her unusually mature speech, I briefly glanced over my shoulder to see what she needed to me hold. However, I declined taking the little "gem" she had pulled from inside her nose that was perched at the tip of her finger.

Spoiled Dinner

With an uncanny ability to speak with skills that would not normally be expected of a 28-month old, D3 often elicits chuckles as we hear ourselves in someone who is only 30 inches tall.

The other night D3 and I sat at the kitchen bar eating dinner. As she crawled up, down and around the eating area, I cautioned her that she needed to remain seated and hold still. But she continued to fidget, oblivious to my advice.

Eventually her fork fell off her plate and tumbled to the floor. With an animated look of surprise, she crawled off the edge of the counter and back onto her bar stool. There she perched on all fours and peered down to the floor from the rattan seat.

I sat in silence watching her think. Soon she looked up at me, shook her head, and distinctly confessed,

"That's not good."