Munchkin

I am blessed with a little girl who loves to read.  She loves it.  She wants to pick out more books at the library than she can carry.  She loves the book aisle at Target and trips to Joseph-Beth.  She adores books at bedtime and is heartbroken when that priviledge is taken away.
Some of the books we read are not so good - Blues Clues, Dora, Pinkalicious.  Some are super cute - Fancy Nancy, anything by Kevin Henke, Not All Princesses Dress in Pink.  She continues to love her fairy tales, Curious George and lift the flap books.  She'll still snuggle close for childhood classics - Make Way for Ducklings, Danny and the Dinosaur, Town Mouse and Country Mouse.

Some books have been read to her so many times that she has them memorized and can she can "read' them to you.  Many nights, as I tiptoe in her room to give her one more kiss goodnight, I find her asleep curled around a book. 

Last week she showed some interest in starting chapter books.  I had been thinking that maybe it was time to start introducing her to the world of E.B. White, Roald Dahl or Beverly Clearly, but I wasn't sure where to start.  While out shopping at the end of the week she found Charlie and The Chocolate Factory and The Wizard of Oz in a bargain bin and begged for me to buy them.  And, being a sucker for books, you know I did.

Since Friday we have been reading The Wizard of Oz, two chapters a night, snuggled up under her covers.  She has loved learning about the TinMan and Scarecrow.  She is fascinated by wicked and good witches and tries to find the word Dorothy on the pages of the book.

Sunday night she curled into me to read our two chapters.  Andy had read to her Friday and the babysitter read on Saturday so I asked her what I had missed in the story.  She told me that we had already met the Scarecrow and were about to meet the TinMan.  I asked her if Dorothy had already left Kansas and if we had met the wicked witches yet.  She looked at me, her eyes wide, and said:

Yes Mom! Dorothy and that dog already left Kansas and the Land of the Donuts and are on their way the big city.

It took me a moment to compose myself so that I wouldn't laugh uncontrollably and then I said to her: 
The land of the donuts?  Do you mean Munchkinland, babe?
Yea, Mom.  The little donut land.

And I was reminded that for as grown up as she sometimes pretends to be, she is still such a (funny) little girl.

Addie-isms

I didn't want our day to start off that way. 
I don't like to see you crying at the kitchen table and I hate being frustrated and angry over trivial things. 
You did an excellent job getting dressed, and making your bed.  You were even doing a good job munching on your bagel and finishing your orange juice. 
And I know you want hair like Rapunzel - but to have her hair you have to have thicker skin.  You have to understand that with long hair, comes tangles and with you, tangles means tears. 
This morning the tangles created huge, cascading tears and angry words.  You howled and hit and stomped.  And then I got angry and I cried.  And maybe I stomped too.  Just like that our morning was ruined.
After you climbed on my lap and we snuggled a bit, we talked through it.  I apologized for getting upset and raising my voice.  You apologized for screaming and hitting...and then you whimpered Mama, please don't cut my hair.  Please don't make it shorted up.

After dropping you off at school, and having a few minutes of silence to myself, I started making list of the things you say, with your serious little voice, that make my heart smile.  Things that I want to remember years from now, when you are a teenager, and not saying anything to me.

These are some of my favorites:

Dad, I'm confused.  No. I mean I'm all puzzled up.
Saying spagaragus instead of asparagus.
Have fun storming the kingdom!
Can I have a sleepover with Nicholas, Dad?  No, not now!  When I am like 14 or 21.
Saying poot frunch instead of fruit punch.
Instead of saying went you love to say go-ed.
Look Mom!  It's gone!  It disreppeared!!
Lately, when your stomach hurts you tell me your wrist hurts, I believe you mean to say waist.
A few weeks ago you told Hilary that rolls are fancy greasy bread.

And, of course, your tearful plea made the list today...