Regardez moi! I'm NEKKID.

Me, to Adele: "Come here, we'll finish putting on your pyjamas"

Adele: "Wait. I'm going to talk to Grandpapa" (runs out of bedroom, naked)

Adele (to her Grandpapa, in other room): "Grandpapa! I'm with Mama!" (returns to bedroom).

Glad that's clear.

Music education: lacking.

Eva, looking at a photo of the Beatles:

"So which one of them is Michael Jackson?"

Last night

Eva, at dinner, after being told to finish the remaining two bites on her plate: "I know, I know. Because there are children in Africa who are FADING".

Then, while doing homework...she scanned some printouts of research material for her first grade science project on "the first explorers in space".

The Yuri Gagarin page caught her eye: "Oh, so his last name is actually WIKIPEDIA???"

Her first misinterpretation of internet information. Awwwww.

Magical

Arriving home after several days of work-related travel...hearing those delighted shrieks of "Mama!!!!!" and nearly getting knocked down in the huge, warm, wiggly hugs.

I am so, so lucky.

Her Highness

Typing this in a hurry because I have to go pick up her majesty at daycare in about ten minutes.

Addie has begun truly exerting her two year old self.

Remember that kid in The Exorcist? I'm sure I've made this comparison before.

Well, that kid was DAYCARE compared to Adele when she doesn't get her way.

Ad is a manager of mad. An administrator of anger. A goddess of grump.

Kid's got grump for DAYS.

Is this just "terrible twos", or is Adele more...mercurial...than most toddlers?

Oh, and the following is not about her grumples. Nooooo.

It's about her BOSSY.

Last night Addie announced at the dinner table, "I don't want Eva to talk". When no one really responded and Eva kept talking, Adele repeated it VERY LOUDLY AND EMPHATICALLY as though speaking to a table full of deaf people with mild intellectual challenges.

"I DON'T WANT EVA TO TALK!"

Nice.

Then, about a half-hour later, I was reading with Adele when she said, "NO MAMA. PAS PARLER". In English, that basically means SHUT UP.

(Yes, we are addressing this. Among other transgressions.)

Meanwhile, Adele has decided it's time to expedite her eventual move to a bed.

I've addressed my concerns (well, terror) about this, a post or two back.

We like having her in the cage at night.

SO.

As a compromise, we've started putting her into Eva's bed to fall asleep at night.

And for the time being, she doesn't seem to realize that SHE CAN GET OUT OF IT.

But it's still not easy.

Up until now, their bedtimes are staggered enough that Adele falls asleep in Eva's bed, then we move her into her crib so Eva can jump into bed.

Last, night, we made the mistake of moving Adele WHILE SHE WAS STILL AWAKE.

I am telling you, my arms are barely attached to their sockets.

The kid was PISSED.

I'm sure you heard the howls wherever you were. Glass broke, two towns over.

I think I have permanent hearing damage.

Which is okay, because Adele gives her (constant) directives so LOUDLY AND CLEARLY that I still get the gist.

I live to serve.

Sleepover

Eva's best friend is sleeping over.

So far, they've eaten supper, danced to the Grease soundtrack, played dress up, and fought a vicious battle over the rules of chess (!)

Moments ago, Eva tore out of the bedroom all dudded up (with the fly of her pants down) and demanded, "do I look like a rock star now?"

Stifling a snort of laughter took every ounce of strength in my body.

Right now they're going through her friend's little overnight bag.

Along with her pyjamas and toothbrush, she brought along:

Six cough lozenges and a tub of Vapo-Rub

Two superbounce balls

A stuffed unicorn

A giant stuffed rat

(and my favourite)

A pumpkin wand that lights up and spins

I love having little girls.

GET BACK IN THE $#*@!!! BED

1. Eva, tonight: "Without chocolate, I COULDN'T LIVE"

-I feel the same way about red wine. Particularly on Fridays.

2. Eva, also tonight: "It doesn't matter if you win. It just matters that you participate."

-Uh, right. Guess I'll be counting on your sister for a wealthy retirement.

3. Speaking of Adele - we're starting to consider moving her from a crib to a bed.

You can pretty much cue the ominous music right about now.

Adder is not like Eva was at two and a half.

Eva would come out and ask for water and a pee and a kiss and all that procrastination jazz. But when we said GET BACK IN THE BED, she went.

Eva's head is full of lollipops and gumdrops. Flowers and pixie dust. Butterflies and Froot Loops.

Adele's head has those things, too. But it also has a healthy splash of spit and vinegar. Thumbtacks and pork rinds. Bees and All-Bran.

The side that WILL NEVER, EVER GIVE IN TO WEAK, INSIPID MORTALS.

This is the two year old who locked me outside the other day (see post from November 2). Who laughed uproariously while I frantically tried to get her to open the door, and only opened it once she saw the veins physically pop out of my forehead - threat of a certain coronary if the door didn't open RIGHT NOW.

THE CHILD OPENED THE DOOR IN AN ACT OF MERCY.

And granted the constant nightly freedom of a BED, I know that she will show NO MERCY.

Adele will be nothing but a curly-topped 26-pound BOOMERANG.

The only thing going against her is that she's just a little weiner. She's short enough that we could probably keep her in the cage - I mean, crib - until after Christmas.

But sooner or later, we'll have to make the switch. It's only a matter of time.

And she'll be ready.

Oh yes.

She'll be ready.

(cue high-pitched evil laugh...then more ominous music...then fade out for Mama's bedtime)