Okay-- still boring, but this time it's not my fault. We had CAHSEE make-up tests--everyone who didn't pass the test in their sophomore year had to take it in the last two days. I was missing 1/3-1/2 my classes, and was SO not in a position to teach them ANYTHING I was going to have to repeat. Twice.
We watched movies. Sue me. I can't even find it in myself to be a teeny-weeny-itty-bit repentant. Shepherd angel of penitence forgive me... (I'm not joking--I looked up angels for research for Adrian's story in heaven, and there really is a Shepherd, Angel of Penitence. I personally think he sounds sexy as hell--yeah, he's gonna be in the story.)
Anyway, Ladybug has been making her presence felt. As I was telling her babysitter, she's sort of like that Bugs Bunny character-- Baby Faced Finster. One minute, she's all simpering cuteness and wee-thing theatre, and the next she's a midget bank robber, shaving in the mirror while puffing a cigar. You think I'm kidding? I give you exhibits A, B, & C.
A. We were late to dance yesterday--I couldn't find her dress. After convincing her to go without her dress (easier said than done, trust me!) I got her there and was putting on her shoes.
"Dancers are pretty mama."
"You think so?"
"Yeah--Dancers are LADIES."
"Yeah--are you a LADY?"
"No." She gave me a VERY pointed look. "I don't have a DRESS!"
aherm. That's me. I've been schooled.
B. Brenda (the day care lady) told me that her husband, Roy, was dancing to the music from his laptop, trying to get the kids to laugh. Ladybug looked at him and sniffed disdainfully.
"That's not dancing!"
"Oh yeah--what's this?" And Roy performed a mock pihrouette (sic).
"That's BALLET!" She said indignantly. "THAT'S dancing!"
aherm. And that's the baby sitter's husband. He's been schooled.
C. This afternoon while she was watching television, I took the opportunity to go to the bathroom. I was there, contemplating my navel, when she walks in with her little toy camera phone and an absolutely EVIL grin.
"Smile, mama! Say cheese!"
And now I've not only been schooled, I've been toy-you-tubed.
The thing is, she's not only articulate, playful, and fearless... she's also a sarcastic bossy bit of baggage--and she's hella smart. You'll be talking to her, thinking "She's playing us all--she knows she's cute and she's got the stage knowhow of a seasoned Vaudeville veteran!" and suddenly she'll talk to you like a complete adult and confirm that idea. This isn't REALLY a three year old with a winning overbite and a charming lisp-- it's a midget in need of a good orthodontist.
I'm planning to ship her off to Catholic school when she hits thirteen. I'm just not old enough to deal with what's coming down the pike. (Can pagans go to Catholic school? This could become a REALLY PRESSING QUESTION in about ten years!)
And that's about all! Oh yeah- Mom & Dad brought dinner today, and good news about a chance to see the Trans Siberian Orchestra (SQUUUEEEEEEE!) and, of course, a good load of guilt about not writing the kinds of books my mom can share with her friends. (Yes. It sounded decidedly like mixed signals to me, too!)
Doesn't matter. What matters is, Big T washed dishes, I didn't have to cook, and Zoom boy and Ladybug got to pet their extraordinarily well behaved dog as he sat in the back of their truck. Everybody was happy.