She got the short end of the stick when it comes to grace and rhythm, and most recently dented the corner of our living room wall with her forehead, thanks to a dead sprint with an ill-timed backwards glance over her shoulder to see if her big brother would soon catch up. But she more than makes up for the clumsy with her wit and charm and overall excitement for life.
She doesn't stop talking, always knows exactly what she'd like to do next, and loves to tell knock-knock jokes. Her days generally begin with a breathless, "I was calling for you—what are we doing today?" and she spends the rest of her time happily doing whatever her big brother is doing, but with princesses instead of race cars in tow.
This one adores her big brother.
Fortunately, the feeling is mutual, and the two play together happily most of the time – at least until she doesn't get her way, at which point, her nonsensical criticism sends Porter running to tell me that Nora has called him a "meanie-ac" or a "baddy". She, of course, will defend herself by explaining that those are not, technically, "bad woyrds."
She does have quite the temper if you tell her no or refuse to do something exactly as she envisioned it or, heaven forbid, make her wear a "boy color," but it would be much harder to take if her retorts weren't so darn funny. My favorites: "Then I'm not gonna be yow fwiend anymo"and "You big meanie guy".
And if she senses she does not have your full attention, she will stand in the middle of the room and shout "Stop going evwy-ware!", "Stop doing evwy-thing!" or "Your going all over the pwace!" She will also climb into your lap, snuggle up under your chin and say "I need you" in a quiet, plaintive tone that stops time and all to-do's.
This little girl has one aim: endless fun. And she is so full of joy that she makes a rock seem like the best toy in the world. Although she loves her "pwincesses" with every bit of her heart, she will usually set them aside if she can get ahold of Andy's chapstick or an iPod or a parent willing to read her a book.
However, if you give this girl a story, she's going to ask you for two more. And if you concede to that, she'll then respond with "How 'bout five, because Poy-da (Porter) is five?"
She may not have rhythm, but she adores music, will jump around with reckless abandon to anything with a solid beat and has recently discovered "rockin' earmuffs," which leave her giggling and humming all at once to the music in her head.
She is creative and funny and happy, loves to play dress-up, paint her toenails and pretend to be the mommy, and has most recently started to respond, "But I am all-weady bee-yooo-tiful," when I tell her it is time to do her hair.
She loves to sing almost as much as she loves to talk. But would much rather make up her own words to well-known tunes than even begin to sing a "real" song unless she knows every single word.
This one does not like to do things unless she can do them well. Her idea of coloring is to tell her willing servant what shade of pink or purple to use on each part of the picture she selects, and though I am certain she mutters "star light, star bright, first star I see tonight" in her sleep, will ask you to tell her how to make a wish every time she sees a star, only repeating the next three words after you have carefully coached her on the line preceding it.
She loves to make wishes and will ask for everything from new ruby slippers to a new mirror for our car (Andy ran into a garbage can after I told him he didn't have clearance for an illegal right-hand turn, resulting in a wobbly side mirror that now has a ring of electrical tape holding it tight). In fact, given her fancy-free nature, I am generally surprised at how practical her wishes are and find it funny that, above all else, she wanted a "new Sleeping Bee-uty awrm" from Santa this year after the poor "pink pwincess" fell victim to impatience and an ill-fitting dress. Note: She did not want a new Sleeping Beauty doll—just the arm—even though I have explained that a new arm may not fit the old Sleeping Beauty.
For all these reasons and so many more, my heart melts every time she says "Mommy, I want you," which means she would like a hug. And I most often find myself exasperated and awe-struck all at once, trying to stifle laughter or the urge to hug her tight as I send her to timeout.
So grateful this three-year-old is mine.
