New Skills

She can open the front door all by herself now, and does so frequently.

Mortar Board

"Guess what, Daddy? I see somebody work very hard and have a special hat on!"

"Oh, Sophie," I said distractedly (I was driving), "Good. Did those guys work very hard?"

"No! Only dis guy. The other guy don't have special hat on. He not work very hard."

I found Jesus

As Sophie and I went into the spare bedroom, she spotted the Jesus action figure on the floor.

Sophie: "I found Jesus!"

"He was in JJ's room!

" Silly Jesus."

sophie rides a bike

Exhausing

She's got the attitude of, of, . . . I didn't expect this until the teenage years.

She's willfully contrary. She's like a mean drunk looking to pick a fight. She wants to carefully ascertain your position on a subject so that she knows how to tell you just how wrong you are.

She thinks "But I don't want to!" is a reasoned and persuasive argument. She uses "I've gotta go potty!" like a get-out-of-jail-free card—and then kicks off her pants and underwear in the public restroom and watches carefully to see just how pissed off she can get you.

"I know!" she'll say, when you feel obliged to correct a misapprehension or to emphasize a point. "But, but, but: I know!"

"Poop!" is the height of sophisticated humor, a source of never-ending hilarity that is never amiss in any situation.

She refuses to eat the meal she requested, picks at your own, and then throws a fit when mealtime is declared over. She regards "But I still hungry" as a great trump card, and often plays it in conjunction with "I've gotta go potty"—the toddler equivalent of a royal flush, she reckons.

If the meal was at a restaurant, in public, she demands to be taken to yet another restaurant. "No, I want nother restaurant!" she'll shriek, apparently thinking you could have been unclear on the concept. When no other restaurant is forthcoming, she will fling herself about in abject misery, wailing and bemoaning her fate, and forcing intervention just to make sure she doesn't do herself injury by slamming her head into a hard surface or rolling out into the street.

Any such intervention is seriously cramping her style, an insult to her personhood and human rights, and reason enough to recommence screaming with renewed vigor.

I begin to wonder, at times, how much further this can go on without someone calling Child Protective Services. But no one ever does. Older men chuckle knowingly; older women smile and say things like "That's what Sundays are for" (whatever that means); younger women seem to think it's cute; other children just want to know "Why's she crying?" Younger men don't notice us at all. It's like we're invisible: does not compute.

And then, most often, we manage to find some face-saving way to get her buckled in the car seat with her pretending that that's what she wanted all along.

And now she looks so cute as she sleeps. So innocuous.

lies and mistakes

This morning I woke up to Sophie telling me that her sippy cup accidentally spilled. When asked if she did it, simply to figure out what happened, she vacillated between it was a mistake and that she didn´t do it. Of course not, Sophie. You didn´t move the cup from next to your bed, take the lid off then place it at the picnic you´d set up in your room.

Later at a little cafe I let Sophie have a hotdog. We have a rule mostly for aesthetic and culinary reasons: ketchup can only go on french fries, hamburgers and hotdogs. She placed her whole palm into the ketchup ever so purposefully and then immediately tried to lick it off like a starved dog. Out of utter disgust, I tried my best to grab her hand and keep it away from her lapping tongue with little success. Then she proceeded to tell me it was an accident. Yes, perhaps the most deliberate accident ever.

brainstorms: everything and nothing

Sophie´s behavior lately, I hope, is just due to her figuring out life, a brainstorm of activity, and this is her way of sorting out everything. She´s taken to saying she wants one thing, then the opposite with no possibility of pleasing her. She sets us up to fail. The other day in the car, she was crying for us to go and stop. GOOOOO!!, she´d plea, catch a breath of air, then continue, STOOOOOP!!!!. This would alternate until she gave up in exhaustion. This morning she said, "Mommy, I love you. Tell me you don´t love me. Huh??? No, I won´t. That´s wack.