One More Shot

Have I ever mentioned that my eldest daughter loves the musical Annie?

No?

My eldest daughter loves Annie. Loves it.  LOVES it.  My wife took her to see the local community production of Annie about a year or so ago.  Since that time, the soundtrack to Annie is just about the only music that my eldest listens to.  She’s listened to it and has sang it SO many times…so very very many times…that my youngest daughter, who does not really speak, can sing along with some of the songs.

In any case, my wife and mother-in-law noticed that there would be a production of Annie at another semi-local theater up in Ft. Atkinson.  Actually, it’s a step up from the last production as this was the Fireside Theater.  It’s a pretty classy place, by all accounts.  Plus you get a meal before the show!  What’s not to like?

In any case, we buy tickets for my wife and my eldest.  Over the past several weeks we’ve been talking about the upcoming event and let me just say, my eldest was STOKED.  This morning, the day that they would set off for the play, my daughter woke up and screamed in joy:  ”IT’S ANNIE DAY!”    No kidding.

My wife and my eldest dressed up in their finest and were on their way, leaving me to mind my youngest daughter.  And all seemed right with the world

Until I got a call from my wife about an hour later.

“Dear, when we make plans like this…it really helps if we check the dates we’ve reserved our tickets.”

My jaw dropped.  We had basically figured out that the only days that my wife and child could go to see the show would be the Sunday matinée.   We checked every Sunday from the day we started looking to the last day of the run.  We had settled on purchasing tickets for April 17th.   But apparently we still had tickets from May 1st in our basket.

Disaster!  My guilt-ridden wife turned away from the box office and explained matters to my daughter.  She was fully prepared to indulge  my daughter in every whim and whimsy her little heart could hold.  New doll?  You got it.  Want to go to the park?  Absolutely!  Ice Cream?  How many flavors would you like?

All of the sudden, a clerk from the box office literally chased my wife and daughter down and told them that they would HATE to disappoint such a beautiful little girl.  The theater would allow my wife and child to attend today’s performance!

I’m not joking.  My daughter was literally so cute that she charmed the theater into letting her stay.

I’m thinking that I’m going to take her with me when we go car shopping.

My eldest is in the tub.  Bubbles appeared that owed no allegiance to any soap.

Me:  Do you need to go potty?
Eldest:  No, I’m just making bubbles with my butt.

At this point, my wife nearly fell off her chair.

“Daddy, I’m still sad.”

“Are you sad that I wasn’t happy with you earlier?  For not listening?”

“Yeah.”

“Aww, sweetie.  I’m not upset anymore.  You know you’re one of my favorite people, right?”

“oh, well mommy’s my favorite.”

Huh

To my daughter,

It’s Janice from the Muppet Show, not Jasmine from the Muppet Show.

It’s Valentines Day, not Valengivingtines Day.

I am observant, not verdent.

Just so you know.

Me:   Where are you going?

Eldest:  I’m running away on vacation.

Me:  Oh.

Youngest:  Blahblahblahblahblah!  (I’m not being flippant, she really sounds that way)

Me:  Are you going to run away upstairs to your room?

Eldest:  No, I’m going to run away to underneath the highchair.

Me:  Good luck with that.

So I don’t know much about football.   I really don’t.   I never really paid attention growing up and it just ended up not being my thing.

That changed(-ish) when I met my wife, who likes football.   Little by little I was exposed to football.  Not that I understood anything about what I was seeing, but I was seeing it more.   And somehow that was important to our relationship.

Fast-forward several years.  We now have a child who is old enough to really interact with us.  And lo and behold, she likes watching Packer Football.

The thing is, I don’t really think that she understands much more of what’s going on than I do.  Let me give you an example.  I was sitting in the dining room eating a quick dinner after bathing our youngest.  My wife and eldest daughter were sitting in the TV room watching the Super Bowl.  Every few seconds I’d hear:

Wife:  GO GO GO GO!

Child:  (a small but noticeable number of seconds later)  GO GO GO GO!

Wife:  STOP HIM STOP HIM STOP HIM!

Child: (again, a bit of a delay)  STOP HIM STOP HIM!

And so it goes.

On the other hand, I walked down stairs and I was greeted by this synopsis, “Daddy!   The man in the black shirt threw the ball to the man in the green shirt and then we scored a touchdown!”

Maybe she does understand a bit more than me about football.

I realized that I hadn’t posted about this.   No, we’re not kidding.

Sometime in August, in case you’re curious.

“DAAAADDY!”

The voice and and tone sent me running from our den to my eldest daughter’s room.   We’d been gradually weening her off of wearing pull-ups at night, so any hint of urgency after she’s been put to bet has to be treated with the utmost respect.

“What is it, honey?” I ask when I reach her room.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Oh.  Well, I’ll stay with you for a little while then.”

“Ok, Daddy.”

I settled in next to her and held her for a moment.  Then a question crossed my mind.

“Sweetie, why was your door closed when I came up here?”

“I had to go potty”

“YOU HAVE TO GO POTTY? LET’S GO!”

“No, I went potty.  Twice.  I went too times.”  Today my wife and I explained to her that if she felt that she needed to go potty, she was allowed to get out of bed.

“Twice you say?”

“Yes.  And I flushed twice.  And I didn’t make pee-pees in my bed.”  (There was a tone to her voice that would have cracked you up if you had been there.)

“I see.”

“Yes, I went pee-pee twice, and I flushed twice.  And then I got scared so I ran back to my room.”

I think it’s the “I got scared part” that cracks me up the most.

My eldest has her fair share of oddities and habits.  Take, for example, footie pajamas and slippers.

My daughter owns several sets of footie pajamas. None of them have feet.  She insists that we remove the  footies.  Instead she wears slippers. In her bed.

Tonight, I put her in a brand new set of pajamas. As we’re traveling, we had not had time to alter the pajamas, so they still had feet on them.

This, of course, upset her.

“they’re covering my feet!” she exclaimed.

“but don’t your slippers cover your feet?” I ask.

“daddy, I love my slippers.”  she responded.

My eldest has decided to turn into a teenager early.  As I’m typing this, she’s up in her room shouting and screaming things down to us.  She apparently doesn’t want us to help her with anything.  Also she’s planning on running away.  Or something to that effect.

Of course she’s doing all this buck naked.  I’m hoping that doesn’t continue through her teenage years.