Yes we were a stop-off on the US Breakdancing Tour. (Featured CMJ from Southie - holla!)
Yes we do endorse protective headgear for indoor recreation.
Yes we do tell our daughter that hens lay pastel-colored eggs.
Yes we haven't opened the Pizza Dome yet because the box is too much fun.
Yes we do die laughing when Vera Bradley is on parade.
Yes we do love this trollop of a dirtball of a little girl.
Saturday, during potluck after church, Baby Girl sidled over to a boy who is easily a head taller than she, and certainly a year older. Compelled by an inner voice that shouted giddily, "It's Girl Scout cookie time!", she reached for the Thin Mint in the boy's hand and wrestled it right out of his clutches. Then she looked up at him as if to say, Seriously? You didn't even fight me for it, chump.
The boy's face immediately scrunched up, the mouth opened wide to bear his full set of 2 year-old teeth, the arms shot straight down along his hips like straws shaking in anger. A little cry crescendoed so that soon everyone in the room looked over to see the little boy falling apart and Baby Girl still standing with the Thin Mint, wondering if it was time yet to take a bite or was she going to have to inevitably give it back.
The boy's mother rushed over, reminding him there was no need to be bullied by a pipsqueak over a cookie.
Baby Girl stood still as though waiting for further instruction.
And I sat at a potluck table, powerless to rebuke or intercede as the tears streamed out of my eyes in a bellyaching fit of laughter. I had become that parent.
***
To think she was still resisting tummy time one year ago.
A couple of weeks ago, I was in the bathroom having an intervention appointment with Mary Kay who was working her magic on me with a little thing called showing free radicals who's boss microdermabrasion, and busy though I was with the pink lady products [which you can purchase and have shipped to you for free through my website linked above under the "mary kay" tab, not that I am plugging shamelessly or anything, not that I want a Pink Cadillac today or anything], I suddenly heard a loud THUD and I was sure Baby Girl was taking her first Danger Mouse geronomooooo out of her crib. But I came out of the bathroom to near no crying, to see Lovey sitting on the exerball just casually thinking maybe the sound came from the stairwell that leads to the other units in our building. But further inspection suggested that perhaps it came from outside. Still, we had no leads.
When I was gone to the funeral last week, Lovey called me and said, "Hey, remember that loud THUD the other night? Well, I found scraps of a coconut in the wreath on the front door."
I will not even begin to explore who purposefully carried a coconut in the mid-February freeze to play darts at my stoop.
So a word from the 'hood. Beware of coconut cannonballs aiming for the target of the festive wreath on your front door. We just can't be too careful about the hazards of tropical fruit.
