Mostly Buffy

Buffy Wants a Present

Tonight during Nummies (yes, we are still nursing) Buffy asked for a present. For her head. Like Snow White. Snow White has a present on her head.

I thought and thought and tried to figure out what Buffy was saying. A present on her head? A bow? Did Buffy mean a bow?

Yes! A bow on her present on her head! Gee, Mom, when did you get so dumb?

Buffy's Rules

1. My Blankleet must be face in the same direction always. I call this the Wrong Way Around. Do not put it the wrong way around, because I only like it the Wrong Way Around.

2. Feed me five clementines a day or I will shove foreign objects up my nose.

3. Let me walk all the way home, but do not insist that I walk facing forwards, hold your hand, or avoid traffic. All of these infractions will incur my wrath.

4. I do not want to wear gloves or a hat in the buggy. If you insist, I will be forced to throw them on the street or into a muddy puddle. I will then complain loudly that my hands and ears are cold. This is your fault.

5. Do not sing except to give me an idea of a song. Once I remember the song, shut up and listen to me. Do not join in.

6. No one, and I mean NO ONE is to hug my Mommie. Not Katie, not friends, especially not Daddy. No one. Ever. She is MY MOMMIE and she has a finite number of hugs in her, and they must all go to me.

7. I will share when I am a) good and ready and b) asked in a way that induces me to want to share. Fail on either count, and sharing will not be happening today.

8. Push me and I will bite you.

9. Whatever you're eating? Give it to me.

10. I take orange water with my meals. This means fresh water in my orange sippy cup. I need it immediately on sitting down, but you must first find where I hid it. Run faster, because I need orange water NOW.

That's all for now. Remember any and all rules are subject to my whims. Do try to keep up.



You Not Good Baby!

When Andrew and I first arrived in New York we hopped in a cab from the airport and the cabbie regaled us with some hilarious anecdotes and insane driving. He told us of some Australian girls who gigglingly asked him to show them a true New York Cab experience. He drove faster. They screeched for him to drive faster and to do some REAL New York cab driving. He drove faster. They then yelled at him to show his mettle. Good cab drivers could really get around New York. So, the good cabbie, ever mindful of his client's rights, drove even faster. He careened around corners, nearly knocked over old ladies, sailed through red lights and slammed to a stop at their destination. The girls were crying, hysterical at the perilous ride. He told us they shouted at him, "YOU NOT GOOD DRIVER! YOU STUPID DRIVER!"

This story comes up a lot in our family in-jokes. You'd be surprised just how often. In fact, we had occassion to remember our cabbie just tonight.

Tonight, our sleepy, adorable, curly-headed babe shoved her fingers up her nose. No big deal, really, she always has at least a finger or two up her nostrils. No big deal except something had gone in first.

She bounced down the stairs to me in the kitchen and asked me to help her blow her nose. Then she murmured a few words that got my Mommy-radar up. She said "stuck" and "my eye". Then she sneezed seven times in a row. She's been snotty all day, so I cleaned her nose. Suspicions aroused, I asked her to lie on her back so I could look up her nose. I saw something white.

I asked her, "Buffy, did you stick something up your nose?"

She nodded, "Yeth. My eye is stuck."

I looked up her nose again and saw a bit of white paper. I thought maybe it was so far up it was bothering her eye? I tried to get it out by tickling her nose with a dish towel (this is a rubbish way of explaining what I did, but it usually works for getting sticky boogers and usually makes her sneeze). She sneezed a few more times and I saw that it definitely wasn't just a big booger, it was solid.

As I was trying to get her to sneeze it out, I called to Andrew to see if he knew what was going on. He didn't, but said she'd also asked him to help her blow her nose. He then offered to get the tweezers. I thought it wasn't necessary, but ultimately agreed it might prove useful eventually.

Then I tried to get out the paper. I hit something hard that made a small knocking sound. Not paper.

I looked again and saw a glint. Oh, crap. Did she have a bit of metal wedged against her nostril? Not only was I going to have to drag this child to the emergency room, but they wouldn't be able to do anything without invasive surgery. I struggled to stay calm enough to convince Buffy to let me go in again with the tweezers.

Eventually both Andrew and I had to restrain her with all of our limbs and promises of chocolate cookies when we were all done. She screamed bloody murder as Andrew held her face absolutely still. I finally reached the object and with a clunk, clunk I managed only to push it further up her nose. Panicking a bit, I sat her upright and tried again to get her to blow it down where I could reach it. She blew hard and managed to get it down to the entrance of her nostril. I plucked it out easily.

Thank god.

What was it?

A little plastic googly eye. "My eye."

Little shit.

She did get her chocolate biscuit, because we'd promised. Both girls got a lengthy lecture on the stupidity of shoving things up noses. Katie managed a craft pom-pom when she was just older than Buffy. Our mothers may correct us, but we don't think we ever shoved anything at all up our noses. Where do they get these ideas?

So, we're all okay. Biscuits and wine later, and the parents are feeling well enough to get some sleep. I close my eyes and see plastic googly eyeballs. Like fairy tale spinning wheels, all the googly eyeballs in the land will be destroyed tomorrow.

Dear Buffy

This will have to be much shorter than I would like, because you're going to need me soon. Right now you're upstairs dressing up and putting on 247 necklaces and bracelets. Today you are Sleeping Beauty and I am Belle. This means we have to greet each other several hundred times an hour, "Hello Belle!" "Hello Sleeping Beauty!" Then we dance in a circle until you fall down and I tickle you. That's enough quality time for a bit and you're off on your own exploring the house. You've been off exploring for a while now, and the house is eerily quiet. This never worried me with Katie, with you it's ominous. After similar silences I've found you covered in black paint, my chequebook covered in green glitter glue, and the entire contents of my drawers scattered across the house. Nothing too terrible, but always something cheeky.

Today you sparked a mini-argument between the coffee ladies this morning. They couldn't decide if you'd been taking Happy Pills for two weeks or a full month. They settled on a month. I said I couldn't see it myself. You've always been happy. The ladies explained that you had always been happy with me, but you'd been moodier when I nipped to the toilet or when one of them wanted to play with you. Now you're delighted to play with anyone and everyone. Each morning you pick a different lady to sit next to and start chugging your Babyccino. When you've finished it and eaten your way through whatever healthy snacks I brought, you start working the ladies for some treats. P is the easiest target and is always good for toast, raisins or even a pain au chocolat. Catch R or L at the right time and they'll spring for another Babyccino or some toast. I am so deeply in debt to them for all they spend on you, but they won't hear of it. Something tells me they like having you around.

And who wouldn't? You're hilarious. You make faces, tell jokes, draw pictures, cuddle, kiss, dance, twirl, jump, stomp, run, squeal, and laugh. That's just in five minutes. I have never known anyone to suck more marrow out of life than you do. You're a star. A firecracker that blows our world up in tiny, wonderful ways.

Better go see what trouble you're up to now.

Quote of the Day

I'm co-opting this quote. I didn't say it first, but I should have. It's mine now.

Actually, it's Buffy's.

"She is a force that can only be vectored, not contained."

Raisin d'etre

Due to some twist of fate (I don't want to call it genetics, given the trouble James Watson has got himself into recently), Regan, Katie and I all have birthmarks on our necks. I've got the best one - it's a full-blown mole that sticks out about half a centimetre. Katie and Regan have blotches; Katie's is darker than Regan's. But Buffy has nothing, on her neck at least. [She does have a curious perpetual small sort of bruise on her back, but that's another story.] In order to explain birthmarks to Katie, we have always referred to our birthmarks as our 'raisins', largely in honour of my own, but the name has stuck and Buffy understands it too.

Today Katie committed the cardinal sin of big sisterhood - she mentioned food in front of Buffy. This is bad, because Buffy will always drop whatever she is doing to go get her hands on food. So when Katie said, in a very loud voice, that she would like some raisins, we flinched. But Buffy, for once, didn't run into the kitchen chanting 'raisins! raisins!'; instead she came towards me and started looking for my raisin.

Then I asked her where her raisin is. She looked confused, then started looking under her dress. She then went to look for Mommie's raisin. So Regan asked her again, "where's Buffy's raisin?"

Buffy looked puzzled and then turned around and said in her best, clearest voice - "I don't know!"

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