Tuesday Tidbits . . .

It's been a while since I've logged some humorous little Mad Hatter moments - I thought it was about time.

Guess what we ate for dinner tonight?
We had grilled salmon along with some fresh green enemies.
Or was that ede-beans?
Oh, that's right - it was edamame.

And you know what I learned today while walking into the fish market to purchase said salmon?
MH loves every fish market everywhere. And here I was thinking this was the first time she'd been in one.

We're big right now on understanding family relations (and pretty good at it!).
Tonight, MH was talking about Jerry (DH's dad, her grandfather).
I asked her who Jerry was and she said "Grandma G's husband".
OK, and he's your . . .?
Daddy's Daddy.

While we're on the topic of relations, when my back was really starting to become an issue it just so happened that my brother was looking to get a dog.
Our perfect solution - Shay went for a trial live-in with Uncle Dave. It worked out great and she stayed - she's getting all the love, attention, and exercise she needs, and we still get to see her quite frequently.

When Uncle Dave (yes, that would be Mommy's brother) travels for work, Shay usually stays with my parents.Sometimes my mom will bring Shay here for the day. She still remembers her favorite spot on the top stair at our kitchen. MH (not remembering that Shay ever lived here) was trying to get up the stairs one day and I heard her say (in a very accusatory tone, nonetheless) "Sweetheart, your son's dog wouldn't move to let me by!"'

She's also quite fond of calling my parents on the phone. When she's done talking to Sweetheart she asks to speak to Sweetheart's husband.

We think it's fantastic that she is so aware of how everyone is related.
Then tonight she started asking where Papa Jerry's (age 76) daddy is.
This led to an entirely different conversation.

You know how people say they can't do something?
You know, I just can't do it!
In our house, can't carries a different meaning.
Let's say I'm tickling MH and it's all fun and games until she decides she done.
Mommy, can't you not tickle me!
In the middle of the night, she crawls into bed with me half asleep and I'm trying to help her nod back off . . . Mommy, can't you not rub my back?
I'm singing along with a song she normally begs me to sing . . . Mommy, can't you not sing right now? (I have to give her the benefit of the doubt on this one, my family seems to lack the gifts of tone and key).

We are suddenly in the best friend phase.
At first I thought it was the most wonderful, heart-warming thing in the world.
Hearing my child say Mommy, you're my very best friend melted my heart into a pile of goo.
Until I started hearing it 50ish times a day.
And until I learned that apparently to a three and a half year old who is trying out the phrase best friend, the entire world has become just that.
Different boys and girls from preschool and playdates (they change according to day, although there are some constants).

Daddy, Sweetheart, Poppy, Uncle Dave, the mailman, the cashier at the supermarket, the woman who waited on us at dinner - all her best friends.
Still, when I hear the words directed at me, I'm done for.
And she totally knows it.
And works it.

When I picked her up at school this afternoon, she had a complete meltdown because I accidentally tried to help her up into her carseat (ok, it wasn't accidental - I was trying to avoid the 20 minute ordeal it takes to get her in her seat if I don't "help"). She freaked out, cried hysterically, and told me I hurt her feelings because she is a big girl and doesn't need any help with anything.

This is amusing on several levels. They have been discussing feelings for the past few weeks at school and we hear a lot about her feelings being hurt, us making her angry or sad, and the like. We're thrilled she's using words to describe her feelings - the reasons for her feelings are an entirely different story.
Today it was the car.
Last week I made her very angry because I put toothpaste on the wrong toothbrush.
Who knows what I'll do wrong tomorrow!

And that little girl who doesn't need help with anything?
Funny thing. After she dragged out dinner (she was very angry with DH because she wanted the big piece of salmon yet it took her half an hour to eat the three bites he initially, and wisely put on her plate), I asked her to go take off her clothes and get into the bathroom for her bath.
Mommy, can't you help me?
Followed by me telling her that she's a big girl and can absolutely take her clothes off by herself.
Followed by Moommmmmmy, Da-ddddyyy! I NEED HELP!
Of course, we all know there is no point reasoning or trying to bring up this afternoon's commentary because the moment is long gone.

I need to get one of those digital recorders, make myself all self-important looking, and walk around spewing words into it. Catch phrases for future blog posts (say an hour or so later). There are enough of these moments for an entire book, yet I can't even seem to remember the stuff from 45 minutes ago.

It's ok - I'm happily into my second Bud Light with Lime of the evening and MH is singing away in bed (how she is still awake is entirely beyond me).

The only thing that will ruin my night now is if Dancing With the Stars was not on before the big debate (I don't even know the times of my shows, I thank my best friend DVR for just making sure they are ready and waiting when I want to find the time to watch), and if Cloris is still on the show after tonight.

It takes a lot to really hit a hot spot with me - Cloris. Must. Go.
Or I might seriously have to consider boycotting the rest of the season (of course I don't vote, I'm too busy watching at 2AM).

Because I can't not stand to listen to one more obnoxious thing come out of her annoying mouth, nor handle one more look at that scary cleavage.