Three Year Old Manipulation

I never ceased to be amazed at the details that Lou picks up and the way she's able to use this knowledge to get her way.

When Auntie A was in town in August, Lou joined in on snack time with Little Man.  Auntie A was trying to get Lou to finish her banana, and Lou was trying her damnedest to get out of eating it.

Hey, Auntie A, do you want to finish this banana?

Oh, no thanks Lou, that's for you,

Well, you know, it has pacalcium in it, and you look like you need some.

Potassium, calcium, who cares?  It all sounds the same to her.  Remind me to never try to convince Lou to eat by telling her about all of the good things in her food.  She'll just use it against me or another unsuspecting victim.

Pint Sized Tutu Chasing Lion

After a year and a half of potty hell, Other Half and I made up a bribe irresistable for any three year old:

Use the potty and you get a kitten.

Friday was the day I had to pay this bribe, so Lou and I made a trip to the local Humane Society.  It didn't take long for Lou to find her kitten- he was the one who cried out every time she walked by and was fiendishly trying to destroy the string tied to his kennel door.   His name is Franklin, a three and a half pound orange striped kitten with irresistible yellow green eyes. 

He's a kitten, therefore anything that moves must be subdued.  He puts up with more than his fair share of loving abuse from Lou, but I'm not sure if it's her he loves or just the tutus and trailing ribbons she always wears.  It's possible that he just thinks she's a life sized interactive toy.  And for some insane reason he's completely enamored of the dogs. 

According to proper pet introduction protocol Franklin was kept in isolation for the first few days.  The introduction to the rest of the Collection, although a bit hairy at times, went better than I had thought it would- namely Lou still had a kitten.  I'm not sure if it's stupidity or naivety or a rash of bravery, but this cat doesn't seem as fearful for his life when he's around the dogs as I am.  In fact, he's been quite reckless about it.  Any kitten should be scared to death by these nosy, noisy, territorial beasts, but I'm starting to think he's no ordinary kitten.

The dogs got kicked out the bedroom for a few nights to ensure that we'd have a kitten to wake up to.  Everyone was a bit salty about it, but exhaustion took over and they slept on opposite ends of the couch.  When Franklin was released from his cozy bedroom confinement he beelined for the couch and popped himself right in between Gidge and Chowder.  The dogs, a bit thrown off at first, were too tired to care as much as they had originally wanted to, and everyone slept together.

For about two minutes until Franklin's ADD attention span gave way.  After all, they have tails that move...

So he bit Gidet's tail for a bit and then curled up on her chest.  After much mewing and pawing at her face, Gidge gave in and started to lick him all over.  Dog-spit covered kitten, lovely.  And when he tired of that he made his way over to Chowder and snuggled in between her legs.

This is a lot funnier if you know that Chowder kills anything that moves, anything, like seven Guinea Hens.

And after making himself comfortable, he decided he should try to nurse.

Ah, the look of sheer terror on Chowder's face was delicious.  We were all inside, so she couldn't kill him and bury him and deny having anything to do with it.  She had to put up with it.  And, surprisingly, she did for a few minutes until she hesitantly stood up on the couch and gingerly stepped down, making sure we saw the care she was taking to not rip this kitten's head off.

The dogs might be scary, but not to this little guy.  And it's a good thing, because the house simply isn't big enough for three animals to not get along.

Lou didn't pick out a kitten, she got herself a lion.

That's NOT How It Goes

I sometimes forget that the library is a great place to pick up music as well as books.  Lou and I recently checked out a CD chock full of chick rock perfect for little girls.  One of the songs is the classic Oh Susanna.

This particular song has ignited some debate between Lou and myself as to the correct name of a particular state.  I call it Alabama.  She calls it Alabambo.

Oh Susanna
Oh don't you cry for me
I come from Alabambo
With my banjo on my knee

This evening, as my Other Half and I were instructed to sing so that Lou could be a ballerina, I asked what song we should be singing. 

Twinkle Twinkle made the list, along with the Ah ah ah song from The Little Mermaid.

And then, for some dumb reason, I suggested Oh Susanna.

What a mistake.

First of all, I started from what I believed to be the beginning of the song.  I sang the first line and was promptly reprimanded because, "That's NOT how it starts!"  When I finally got to the good part, the chorus, I was, again, wrong.

It's NOT ALABAMA!  It's ALABAMBO!  (Emphasis on the "bam").

Well exuuuuse me!  But when I was in Geography class (about a million years ago) the state was, in fact, Alabama.  Somehow, between about 1992 and now the name has changed and I had no idea.

Do all three year olds think they know more than their parents or is this my curse for always knowing more than my parents did?  Is this going to last forever?  Lady, I know I don't have that many years on you, but trust me, in some cases I do actually know what I'm talking about.  Plus, my spell checker just suggested "Alabama" in all instances where I've written Alabambo.

But maybe not. 

Maybe the name's changed and I had no idea, after all, as Lou would say, "Mom, you're pretty old."