S - O

These are the letters Sophie knows.

She also knows that they are in her name. She will tell us this excitedly every time she recognizes them.

"Dis 'S'! Dis in my NAME!"

For instance, she told us to stop at the stop sign tonight ('cause, first things first, right?) and then told us that there was an 'S' and an 'O' and that these letters also were in her name.

(She calls the stop sign an octagon, by the way. But then she calls every polygon she sees an octagon. Especially if it is red.)

christmas artwork

Sophie's artwork is starting to take on recognizable forms. Granted, these were stickers, but she got them mostly in the right order. She identified the earmuffs as a rainbow.

Parade

We attended a Christmas parade a few weeks ago. I think that officially it was a Winter Holidays Parade, but the actual participants seemed eager to let us all know that they were all about the Santa and/or the Christ.

There were an awful lot of church floats, offering dueling interpretations of mobile, living creches. We got invitations to attend church. And candy. There was also a lot of boy scouts, cub scouts, girl scouts, and brownies, looking all cute and cold. They were less overtly religious. They still had candy though. There were some folk in old cars (though not as many as in Michigan parades), who threw candy. The people on horseback threw candy. The marching band did not throw candy, they played instruments instead. They had people walking alongside them who handed out candy. Then came the fire trucks, ambulances, police cars, and motorcycles. They didn't have much candy. Last of all came Santa on the back of a cherry-picker. He "ho-ho-ho'ed" at us and whipped a candy cane at our heads.

Sometime in the past, oh, twenty five years or so, parades have developed a candy-throwing aspect that didn't exist when I was a boy.

Sophie had a delightful, if slightly cold time. She also had two lollipops and part of a candy cane. There was no way she wasn't gonna be eating her some candy at that parade.

She still lets us know, every single time that we pass the street corner on which we stood, that there was once a parade there.

"One time they marching band here! And, and, and, they gives me candy!"

December

It's not that she hasn't been doing anything interesting, it's just that December has been so busy.

For instance:

• She is a real American girl: she gives high fives competently and freely.
• She has learned how to lie. She does so freely, but not too competently.
  Me: "Did you wash your hands?"
  She: "Yes!
  Me: "Why aren't your hands wet?"
  She: "I di-i-i-i-i-i-id! ... [mumbling] washedmyhandsed"
• She has learned the five second rule. "I got dis real fast, Daddy!" she tells me as she picks something up off the floor and pops it in her mouth. "You got dat real fast?" she'll ask me as I do the same.
• She still wants to know why. She still wants her way immediately. But lately she's been skipping her nap with distressing frequency (distressing for us—she thinks she's being exceptionally clever. She smirks). This means that she melts down quickly in the evenings now. She'll express a wish, you won't immediately signal your assent because you haven't quite deciphered the request, and -BOOM- the girl has hit the floor.
• She's stopped viewing time-outs as a treat.
• Snow! Snow! Snow is fun! It's cold! And you can throw it! And slide on it! And it makes snow castles and snowmen! Which you can then kick over!!!!
• OMG Santa!!!!!!!!!!!!! Have you heard about this guy? He is so, so cool. Sophie kind of has him mixed up with the Tooth Fairy a bit (an older girl she knows has lost a tooth, and anything this older girl does is mega-cool and worth emulating), but she's got a fairly firm grasp on the fundamentals and will tell you about them at great length when given an opening. He comes down the chimney. We met him at the mall and at the apartment complex clubhouse. And he will fill the stockings with care. And then he will leave you a present under the tree (or maybe your pillow). And he eats cookies and milk and possibly ice cream.

A week or so ago, at dinner, we were talking about Christmas and Santa Claus. I cued up "Jingle Bells" on my portable MP3 music player and this meant that—jing! jing! jing! jing! jing!—we heard jingle bells for about five seconds before the song started on this particular track.

Sophie's eyes got very very wide, and she was down off of her chair and into the living room to check out the fireplace, lickety-split.

Christmas Day, she woke up early. Not because of Santa, but because of the snow plow slowly plowing outside her window at 6 a.m.

So she got a white Christmas and all.

Last Christmas she wasn't too sure about the procedure of unwrapping presents. This year she ripped away with abandon, and seemed a little miffed that her mother and I reserved some of the presents for ourselves.

Later she got a bit worried. We had put out the requisite cookies, which had a bite taken out of each one. But we had forgotten the milk. "We no give-ed Santa milkie!" I assured her that he had probably helped himself to a glass from the kitchen.

On the twenty-sixth, I walked into her bedroom in the morning when she woke up.

"Hello Daddy!" she said, "Santa come again?"

x-mas gifts Sophie wanted from Santa

Here are some thing Sophie asked for for Christmas:

A Mommy, Daddy and Baby Elmo

A Mommy, Daddy and Baby Dinosaur

A Mommy, Daddy and Baby Baby

Do you see a trend?

Oh, and Legos.

big-girl potty

Apparently, we're all done with the training potty. Sophie's started using the regular toilet at home. She's been using the regular toilet at school now since Sept--since that's all they have. But at home it seemed less threatening and easier to let her use the cute, green training potty. It's a bit early to call it, since she's only started doing this today, but it seems that she's more than ready to get rid of it. She even told me where to put it away.

If only getting rid of her binky was as easy.

hissing like a cat

Sophie is generally easy-going, but at times when she gets mad or doesn't want to do what you want her to, like put on her shoes and socks, she hisses at you like a cat. Maybe this is where the expression hissy-fit comes from.