Annacdotes, Part 6

1. One morning over breakfast, Anna and I were having a discussion about the little rhyme "This little piggy" with your toes. When I got to the last one, the one that goes wee, wee, wee all the way home, she said in kind of a disgusted voice, "Does that mean he went potty all the way home?" That made me laugh, especially because I have never referred to that substance as "wee wee" (or made that connection myself, for that matter). But then I had to explain that the "wee" in the rhyme was like a little pig squeal and, naturally, we had to practice our pig squeals for the rest of the morning. Awesome on the eardrums.

2. Anna handed me several balls one day and said, "Mom, can you show me how to jiggle?"

3. I decided it was time for another talk about obedience one day when Anna had repeatedly gotten into something I repeatedly told her not to open. (I'm hoping one day this concept will click. One day...) After some discussion, Anna said she was ready to apologize. I knew things had really sunk in when she said, "Mom, I'm sorry for obeying." I helped her remember that she DISobeyed and that's probably what she meant. And then I said, "Next time, you need to do what I ask." She said, "Okay, but next time don't ask me to do anything!" Again, her logic astounds me.

4. In an overly sad voice, Anna told me one day that she went by the fire and it burned her. Since it was totally out of the blue and no fire was around, I kept asking her to repeat what she said. Finally when I figured it out, I said, "When was this?" She said, without missing a beat, "Five years ago when I was two."

5. Sometimes, hopefully to tease her out of a bad mood, I'll ask Anna why she's being such a crabby pants. But she will correct me every time, depending on what she's wearing (if she's not wearing pants): she's been a crabby skirt, crabby dress, and even crabby leggings.

6. Speaking of cranky Anna... Anna is a master pouter. She's got the sad face, the slumped shoulders, and the silent treatment down. I have no idea where she learned such things. Luckily, her pouts last about 30 seconds, but still. One day she was sad about something I said and wanted to pout in the dark. (I don't know why.) She kept demanding that I turn off the light. When I asked her to speak to me in a nice voice, she kept demanding. When I kept at it, asking for some manners, she said in a huff, "I don't know how to ask nicely." "Yes, you do," I said. "No, I don't," she spat. "And I don't want to be teached either."

I felt like I was talking to one of the newsies.