My three-year-old often asks for a bedtime story about Kacya Warrior Princess. Then she’ll tell me her story, which is usually much better than mine. In the morning, she recounts her dreams. She’s also into jokes, but she hasn’t quite figured them out. Her new superhero name is Blue Guy, her sister is Green Guy, and I’m Red Guy (I can shoot milk out of my boobs). We’re no longer Mama and Dada (sad) – “no, Mom and Dad,” she’ll correct us. She’s all about winning – first one down the stairs, first to get dressed, first out the door – and she’ll frequently tell us: “I win you luck.”
The almost two-year-old likes dirt. She’ll bee-line to a dirt pile and try to stuff some in her mouth before we can stop her. She loves getting dressed by herself. Yesterday’s ensemble included dada’s underwear around her neck, winter gloves on her feet, a hat, sunglasses, and a shirt worn as pants. She’s already choosing her outfits and refusing to wear certain clothes. She’s talking A LOT. Favorite words: zipper, computer, no, more, spooky, help, boob, and stop. The other day she saw a stop sign on a piece of paper and said, “stop.”
They’re eating Nutella for the first time. I tell her it’s difficult to spread on toast and I can help her if she needs help.
“I can do this,” she says, then she sticks the spoon in her mouth.
Kacya’s dream: “A monster cuts our family so we’re all broken. The monster cuts the neighborhood, then the monster cuts the picture”…so there’s no more dream.
Kacya had a dream about a bad witch. She was in the bathroom and the bad witch dunked her upside down in the toilet.
She tells me a bedtime story about a bear with no friends. Then he finds a friend named Planet Mars.
Kacya starts a story, then she pauses and asks, “Who is the man in the story? Let’s think bout it. Use our ‘magination.”
“Maybe it’s Nuke, Luke, or Deeco,” I suggest. (her imaginary friends)
“No, they are sick. They aren’t around to make me sick,” she responds.
She ends her storytelling by blowing me a kiss and says, “see ya to Tuesday,” something she says every night regardless of the day. She used to say, “see you next summer.”
She gets on the bed, turns, and pretends to pull something up onto the bed.
“What are you doing?,” I ask.
“Helping Nuke, Luke, and Deeco. They’re short.”
She finds a quarter.
“What are you going to buy with it?” I ask.
“A house, a house sooo big.”
“I wish I could go in my bones with a cool car to go in here” (pointing to her body).
Kacya is typing on the computer. “I’m writing a book called Kyva and Me.”
She puts her drum shirt on and looks down at it. “See, it is upside down.”
She wishes she had two noses so that she can touch both big toes to her noses.
“How does bread talk?” She eats the crusty part – “it makes noise.”
“How does the phone eat? Writing.”
“How does the bread eat? Milk.”
She spent a couple days at her grandparent’s house. “What was your favorite part?” I ask.
“Sleeping,” she says.
“You know lots of good words,” I tell her.
“Like bubble lips? How about jojammas, phalling, zippers, money, ice cream, marsh melons. How about butts?”
Kyva pipes in with “butts.”
Kacya copies me:
“cu, cu, cup,” I say.
“cu, cu, puzzle,” she says.
“ga, ga, games,” I say.
“ga, ga, books,” she says.