Psychic

One general M2, and two M1, stories.

M2 — she’s a climber. She has figured out how to turn her toy bins upside-down and use them to climb up on other, much higher, things. And she doesn’t believe us when we say no. M1 we could distract away. Not so much with Monkey-Girl.

M1: Story 1. Last night at dinner we had, among other things, good bread with olive oil & balsamic vinegar. We were discussing the meaning of the word “tart”. She was using it in sentences. “Oh MOM! This is TART!” Over & over. After the fifty-bazillionth time of hearing it was tart, I asked her if she was a little tart. She grinned wickedly, lowered her voice just a little, and said with an evilness that made both of us proud, “I’m not tart, I’m POISON!”

M1: Story 2. Tonight at bedtime, I go into her room to read her a story & say good-night. She has an orange patch of marker on her knee that must be 2×3 inches easily. I ask her what it is. “Marker.” And why it’s there. “I don’t know.” How did it get there? “I don’t know.” If she doesn’t know why it’s there or how it got there, I ask, how does she even know it’s marker… she answers my question with a tentative question of her own — “I’m… psychic? I know things?”

I know laughing only encourages them… but damn, sometimes they say the funniest things.