Monday, May 13, 2013

Remember I'm your kid?


Cote is having a wonderful time in her imagination, as she frequently does.  A few minutes ago she asked to borrow a real pan for her play kitchen and made me some soup.  She took my order, served me and offered a blanket to keep my baby warm.  She also complimented me on how cute he was and asked his name, smiling sweetly as I told her, with the socially appropriate, "Aw.  That's a nice name."

After a while, she spied the bean bag and a wrap and suggested we go to sleep.  She covered herself and told me to rest well.  Then she paused as she did the last time I was invited into her world, "You remember I'm your kid?"

"Yes, I remember," I giggled

That was enough, apparently.  A little touching base with reality?  

She tucked herself in and pretended to snooze.  She roared, told me there was a ghost and announced she would have to go fight as she was a power ranger (wanjaire) and she had a sword.  

In her purple, fluffy Easter dress she danced toward the front door, looked at me with a wink and said, "But first I hafta pick my wedgie."

Cue epic one-person battle on my front porch.  

Later she came in telling me something in an affected English accent about a tea party.  She also told me how she died out there and I should cry.  But she only died one day, not two days.  Then she wondered aloud, also with an accent, if I had any raisins and if she could get them by herself since she was a big "sisser".  I agreed, thinking we'd bridged back to reality for a moment but apparently not, because she put her stuffed bunny in the stroller and is going for a walk.


Yep, I definitely remember this little mighty ball of awesomeness is my kid.  


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