We’ve entered a whole new phase wherein RR assigns value to everything and that value is calculated by an arcane and complex formula which is perfectly logical, mama. For example, peanut butter is not as good as television but television has equal value to crackers covered in peanut butter. All snacks are inferior to grapes unless those snacks are being cut and prepared on the counter with a big, sharp knife. Knives outrank the toy bus which outranks the other toy bus. But only on some days. Holding the highest value of all are the stuffed bear, pacifier, and bunny that she sleeps with. Come between them and she. will. cut. you. Knives, remember?
Somewhere she picked up the concept of trading and now we have a day trader on our hands who thinks nothing of mortgaging our house for 20 swings at the park. She has to be cut off, you guys, or we’d be living in a cardboard box underneath the swingset pushing her until our arms fell off*. Rest assured, we quickly learned to work this in our favor and have traded her into her pajamas practically every night this week. You’d be amazed at what a hairbrush will buy.
On Sunday morning, I attempted to give D a rare morning off (coffee>sleep – the kid isn’t the only one who knows what things are worth) and fetched RR when she started hollering. In a new form of playing favorites, I scooped her up and she thrust her bear/bunny/pacifier at me and said, “trade for mama.” It was like a dragon offering up her hoard. The gleam in her eye indicated she knew exactly what she was doing:
Hmmmm…what is mama’s most treasured thing? Mama. And since she knows that this is my most treasured thing, when I give her this, she can’t help but give me mama. I can’t wait to ask for the car.
I am obviously far less skilled at this shell game. I handed over mama like the patsy I am. Admittedly, since she’ll try any angle to get to her mother, I wasn’t at all surprised. I was surprised this morning when, half covered in a towel and dripping wet, *I* got traded for. I have to admit, my heart soared a little. I’m in the big leagues, baby!
–We gave her a pillow, top sheet, and blanket and we’re getting a full 12 hours of silence every night. Bless her heart. “I was cold, mama.”
–Also, we visited one Montessori school on Tuesday. I might or might not have teared up when the director told me they were allowed to run outside and play with bugs. We applied. Frankly, anyone who is pro dirt and uses the term “back forty” in all sincerity while discussing the pros of using goats to mow poison ivy is someone with whom I want my daughter to be associated.
*We’re one step ahead of you! We’ve taught her to pump her legs and she’ll be a pro in no time.