Miniature and Mouthy

This kid.

She doesn't stop talking.  Or stop asking questions.

She doesn't wait for or listen to the answers either.

And she's sassy.  Or "thathy".  (Her lisp is fading, actually, and I'm already mourning it.)

She's sharp and witty, in a way that's completely different from Fiona or me or Terry.  And she'll zing you good, so watch out.

When she's happy and sweet, she could give you a toothache.  But when she's angry and sour, she will do her best to make sure that you go down with her stinking sinking ship.

* * *

The following are but a few of the quotes I thought to jot down this week.

- "Why is today tomorrow?" (Random backseat question.)

- "You're not even amazing."  (Fighting with her sister.)

- "So tell me again, how did the moon and the sun fall in love?"  (I never said they did in the first place.)

- "When you were 5 [years old], were we friends, Mom?" (More random backseat questions.)

- "Just show me how to make a robot." (Just.)

- "When they make me lay down for a nap at school (which I'm too old to be doing anymore), all I can think about is your face and then I get sad and I cry.  How am I supposed to sleep like that?!"  (An argument for why she shouldn't have to go to school.)

- "You're absolute entire adorable."  (Talking to a miniature paper machéd filing cabinet.)

- "Guess what my brain wants me to say?  It wants me to say, 'You should stop talking now'."  (To Fiona who was telling her an uninteresting story.  My brain was telling me the same thing too actually.)

- "Look at that handsome man with a beard and glasses.  Mmm mmm." (Looking out her bedroom window at her father who is blowing leaves.)

And my favorite (which requires a little context):

My mom sent in some Kellogs box tops and redeemed a children's DVD that was sent to our home.  It is a collection of short videos based on R.L. Stine's books, Goosebumps.  Imagine that the Twilight Zone and Kurt Cameron had a baby... it's kinda like that.

Anyway, the girls were so excited to be receiving a real piece of mail addressed to them (one that could be inserted into a DVD player no less), they asked if they could watch at that very moment.  I was happy to grant their wish and grab 90 minutes of rest for myself.

Within the first minute, this song starts:

and Fiona runs to the kitchen.  I ask her if she's scared, and she swears she just needs a cup of water.  She proceeds to get up and grab a cup of water every time things got a little tense.

One big difference between her and her sister is that not only will Fiona not tolerate even the thought of something scaring her, but she will also not admit that she is in fact scared.  Neve, on the other hand, will openly admit that things are scaring her while enduring it on the couch, hands over face, peeping out of the gaps of her fingers.

After the 90 minutes of my unrest is over (credits rolling), Fiona and Neve sit motionless on the couch staring off into space.  They were both clearly thinking about what they had just watched- their first taste of a horror movie-esque high (as ugly and tame as it may have been).

Fiona: "Mom.  Where's the DVD case?  I need to see what it says."

I hand it to her.  She angrily begins searching for a disclaimer that says it's not intended for young adults (she doesn't know about ratings yet), hoping to be vindicated of her lies of thirst.

Me: "What are you looking for, Honey?"

Fiona: "The warning on here that says this is too grown up and scary for kids."

Neve grabs it out of her hand, pretends to read the back of the DVD and says (I swear this is quoted verbatim): "Um, according to this, Fiona. . . you're a baby."

Burn.