My daughter is what some people might call a “character.” She’s not necessarily a ham; as a matter of fact, she doesn’t usually care to have attention called to herself. But every day I discover something new and interesting (and often, entertaining) about her.
When we were driving to Paris with the grandparents, Gwamma the RN wanted to take a look at a sore that D.D. had on her wrist. From the back seat, I heard, “You’re pressing on my weak spot!” In retaliation, she pressed—hard—on Gwamma’s “weak spot”: her voice box. That’ll learn her!
But D.D. got back into Gwamma’s good graces by giving her a water-bottle full of kisses when we returned home. She has since bestowed such a bottle on her dad. Where’s mine?!
When we went to Versailles, she was a bit bored, as you could imagine an 8-year-old to be. She insisted on keeping her empty drink bottle from lunch, and since we were going to tour the gardens next, we figured, “Why not?” So we got a jug-band accompaniment through the gardens of Versailles.
I found a note in my Palm, but I’m not sure where we were when she cheerfully inquired, “Who wants to dress up like a tree?” Farther down in the note, she informed us that her itchy ears were caused by chicken bones and Caesar salad in her ears. O-kay.
She has the power to be unintentionally cruel, but also kind. I was sitting on the bed, changing into my jammies, when she commented, “Those panties make your butt look bigger than it really is.” So charming!
But she can also break my heart a little. Last night, she wrapped her Molly doll in a blanket, deposited her at the foot of my chair, and ran behind the couch to hide. I looked down at Molly, who had a post-it note stuck on her blanket: “Please love her.” Crack—there went my heart. She explained that she wanted me to treat Molly well, not like the Dursleys treat Harry Potter.
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