When your toddler (almost three) daughter looks at the board book Goat Goes to Playgroup and remarks, on the page where they are gardening, that they are growing kale and chia.
“I need cake. I need caaa-aaaake!”
“You want to share some cake?”
“Yes. I big piece, you little piece.”
“Er, I little piece, you big piece.”
Good to know she fully understands the nuances of non-verbal communication.
(I baked three small traybakes yesterday. Two are for a school fundraiser, this one I only added half as much sugar as I should have.)
Anne: Xavvi and I were playing today.
Me: Mm-hmm (in the way that one who isn’t really paying that much attention mm-hmms).
Anne: He was the King, and I was his bird.
Me: I’m sorry, what?! … Did he tell you that?
(He’s Polish, so that would be weird.)
Anne: No, I told him. I was his pet bird. A parrot!
Anne’s best mate is over after school. They’re having a snack, and I ask what they want to do after they eat it.
“Eat some more snacks,” I’m cheerfully told.
Someone get that girl a Singapore passport and a map of all the hawker centres.
I’ve just spent what felt like an eternity giving Anne tips while she solved a jigsaw, something in which she’s never shown any interest before.
I wish I could be more patient.
Currently sitting up in bed with this little girl sleeping on me like a baby monkey, because she has a bad cold and can’t get to sleep any other way.