a conversation while driving

on the way home from dinner at a thai restaurant called, quaintly, 'thai wi rat' . . . this was the conversation between amelia and her dad.

she was patting thomas and mused out loud: "he is very fuffy (sic). . . i'm not very fuffy . . . i'm not a dog, cos i'm not fuffy!" Andrew: you're not a cat because . . .?" Amelia: "i'm not FUFFY' . . . . Me: you're not daddy cos . . . .?" Amelia: "i haven't got garses (glasses)" (we went thru the entire family - she wasn't any of us because we all of us have, apparently, GARSES."

we wandered upstairs, and readied her for bed - bath, fresh handtowel wrapped around her body like a miniature adult, then it was time to do her teeth. i asked - "who would you like to do your teeth tonight? mummy or daddy?" no response. i asked again, twice, sounding a little exasperated by the last time.

her response: "katie . . ."

hmph.
katie was OUT.
we mentioned this.

amelia's response was to say: "look, here is katie" and to bend over slightly, leering at an imaginary katie as she grasped her hand and led her to the bathroom, other hand keeping her tiny towel in a dignified position.

what is one to do????

up date

whew, the kid is developing so fast, we can hardly keep track of her funny little ways and sayings. chelsea is here for a week, so amelia has been trotting around - pretty much to heel (well, chelsea IS practically a vet, it figures), gazing adoringly at her and continually asking her - 'what are you wearing Chels?' she talks about her sisters ALL the time, relishing their names rolling off her tongue. yes yes yes, makes me tearful!

her mornings start like this: 4-5am ish, into our bed - if its dark, back to sleep after a wee chat . . . i.e. 'dadda, dad. 'melia's in YOUR bed. milk. i want milk. PWEESE. milk pweese. no stars dadda. just dark. hee hee hee, your beard tickles 'melia (as her feet caress his face with the gentleness of a rampaging alligator. i cuddle ewe mumma' (rolls vigorously over and grabs my face, planting baby kisses from one end of it to the other, then sinking her face into my pillow with a happy sigh, holding my neck with one hand either side.)

a short time later, its up for breakfast. thomas must be greeted. 'sweetheart, hows your day going? i have my medicine now? (multivit tablet with a koala stamped on the front.) that is consumed in a few seconds. 'i have another one my medicines?' andrew responds: 'how many are you allowed a day?' 'one.' "how many have you had?' 'one.' 'what happens if you have more than one?' ''melia goes BAH (spews)' (well, she doesn't - but that was the first thing andrew thought of as a reason why it was one only - and he is STICKING to it).

she calls us sweetheart a lot. very tenderly too. she tries to do most things on her own - toileting especially, unless andrew is around, and then he goes on to WIPER duty. she informs him he has to be 'vewwy vewwy gentle pweese' . . . if she is playing in her room, and we look in the door, she lifts a hand and motions us in, patting the floor saying: 'come in my room and play me - this is MY room.'

bandaids are a new discovery: 'my knee is vewwy vewwy sore. i want bannaid. i get one?' and off she goes into the bathroom to fetch one, and will apply it rather skilfully if she gets the chance.

she has her own new handwashing liquid - featuring a kangaroo on the front. the stuff foams beautifully, so it is a huge play time whenever hands get washed. we are currently trying to balance the need to wash hands often with our desire that she not wash a thousand times a day . . .

she is, as we have learned, a NICE BEE . . . not a yucky one (see A Bugs Life The Movie for reference) . . . and will tell us tenderly that we are also nice bees, or YUMMY bees. this has proved a rather useful tool in suppressing (hmmmm, emotional trauma in force!) any anti social tendencies (of which a number have manifested) . . . i.e. "Amelia, do nice bees or yucky bees push little kids?" . . . "yucky bees". "ok. are you a nice bee or a yucky bee?" a NICE bee" (this accompanied by a hurt and indignant look) "so, you are not going to push that little boy again are you?" "nooooooo. i a NICE bee." (usually an apology - a very sweet 'sowwy' and a huge hug ensues after this discussion - fortunately, very few and far between these days - the toddler years is on its way out!).

a recent visit to the Lone Pine koala sanctuary resulted in amelia ripping leaves off trees when we came home, and attempting to eat them. she was, you see, a KOALA like her 'Nala (koala toy) . . . we quickly mentioned the 'special leaves for koalas we keep in the fridge', and she and andrew then happily ate the said lettuce leaves in quiet contemplation. also, the veges on her dinner plate have been categorised as koala food (broccoli is 'trees for the uvver one Nalas', carrots are for the 'hopping kangaroos', potato is what the 'big lizards' eat, and peas are the favorite food of the Push turkey (or as it SHOULD be known, the BUSH turkey . . .) . . . and the correct noises and actions precede the eating of said vegetable delights. makes for an interesting dinnertime. still, she is eating the damn stuff - so we are happy . . .

when photos can't be posted

as previously mentioned, the kid is going through (well, has been since she started being able to dress herself) a stage of whipping her clothes off at the drop of a hat, and running around butt nekkid. a couple of times recently we have found ourselves convulsing on the floor while she does so. i can't, for obvious reasons, post photos of these two instances on the net, so will limit myself to a description!

yesterday morning, ms A was roaring her discontent at something or other, and was sent to her room to calm down (which usually happens after the door is shut, and once she has screamed at the top of her lungs in completely incoherent language exactly what she thinks of us), and came out, miraculously transformed in both appearance and demeanour, butt nekkid except for a pair of purple fairly wings strapped to her back, smiling beatifically (mercurial should be her middle name) running madly through the house, pausing every now and then to do a sort of ballet-like leap, yelling 'fie fie fie' (fly fly fly) . . . . she ran from one room to the other for what seemed to be an hour, while we wept at the kitchen table.

thomas, sensible dog, hid UNDER the table with his remaining eye hidden in his paws. that dog is a SURVIVOR.

after a day of swimming lessons and mad game-playing with her toys, she went to bed - roaring again (she had removed her pyjama pants, perched on the edge of the couch, announced that she was 'doing poo's' with all the appropriate noises - pretending, i hasten to add - and then donned a satin doll's pillowcase as her 'new pants', refusing to put her pyjama pants back on. i, evil slayer of all things imaginary, had made her put the pj pants back on, and she went and hopped into our bed loudly protesting) . . . a few minutes later (after going in once to rescue his wallet at she strewed its contents across our bed), andrew went to check on her, and came out - beside himself - waving katie and i in the door.

she was nowhere in sight, her pjs were perched neatly on my pillow, and a small wriggling amelia shaped lump was burrowing under the top sheet, with hands and feet making all sorts of experimental shapes as she did so.

we didn't disturb her, and a few minutes later she was lying sedately asleep and in all innocence on her father's pillow, hands crossed at her chest like a good girl, with the pj's still abandoned next to her.

i transferred her a few minutes later, first into her pjs and then her own bed, giving her her toy st bernard in its red cross rescue bag, which was grabbed and embraced fiercely even though she stayed asleep for the entire time.

she IS fun. MAD with it. but fun.