As Quoted In

Besides her original remarks, Allison Clare also inserts into conversations lines from her favorite movies. Perhaps unfortunately, she has inherited the appetite for television and narrative in general that both of her parents share, and she loves the movies and TV shows that we've allowed her to watch. She wants to watch them over and over again, notices minute details that she'll remind us of months later, and every now and then chimes in with something she has picked up.

The other day, as we were driving up to the mall early one morning to meet up with Prin and do some Christmas shopping, I was alarmed to see the car's check engine light come on. It's never a happy sight, and this time the brake light and stability system light had also come on, which made me feel both more and less optimistic, as it seemed unlikely that a catastrophic failure had happened to our newish car's innards (though if so, it looked like it would be really bad).

What I was most worried about was that it might be unwise to drive any further. Sam was out of town, so he couldn't come and pick us up. I couldn't call someone else to get us or even get a tow-truck out since both kids would need carseats. Gillian's could easily be switched, but AC's is more permanently installed. I hadn't worn a coat myself, since we were planning on being inside all day, and it was 20 degrees out. Argh. So I was pulled over on the side of the road, flipping through the owner's manual determined to try to reason out what might be causing this problem.

And then in the silence, my focus was broken by a deadpan instruction from the backseat. "Just. Drive. The Car."

"What did you say?"

"Just. Drive. The Car. Mommy."

"Where did that come from?"

"Kermit the frog says that."

Oh.

[It turned out to be good advice, as I decided to risk it and drove to the dealer, where I was reassured that the lights were probably just on because the gas cap was slightly loose. They went off a while after.]

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She is a master (mistress just doesn't sound right, does it?) of the deadpan delivery. Another of her lines is from Toy Story, where Buzz Lightyear thinks he is a real space ranger and Woody is disgustedly trying to remind him of his status. Allison Clare will walk up to me, point a finger my way, stare me down, and say, "You. Are. A Toy." and then burst out laughing.

It's funny how insistent she is, and how uncowed by us, considering her size. She weighs, what? 1/4 or 1/5 of what I weigh? A friend of mine recently posted a photograph on Facebook that her daughter had taken of her. It was shot from the kid's eye view, and from that vantage point, my friend looked incredibly tall. So Allison Clare is surrounded by all of these people who are as tall as trees, much stronger than she is, but she orders us around all the time and is surprised to be given orders herself. I mean, don't mistake me--it happens all the time that we tell her what to do. But as often as not, she'll just think about what we've asked her to do (come to dinner, pick that up, put your shoes on) and then say, as if she's mulled it over, "Naaah."

I wish I had my daughter's chutzpah. Which is another word she has picked up from TV. I don't think she knows what it means, but then again, I think she does.

In Her Own Words

Every day with Allison Clare is full of conversation, whether she is having it with us, with passers-by, or with inanimate objects. The amusement makes up a bit for the extreme sleep deprivation. (Or maybe it's the sleep deprivation that makes me think it's funny . . .)

These conversations are rarely so noteworthy that I write them down individually, but I do wish that I were keeping better track of them because in the aggregate, the sense of her personality that they supply would complement some of the other scenes that are burned into my memory, such as my recent mortification in Walmart as she tried eating the groceries in the cart, tossed them overboard in an abundance of joy, followed up with hurling her own shoes out when the tossable groceries were removed (and then tried to eat the shoes when they were placed back on her feet). But I digress . . .

Right now she's working out the kinks in her understanding of possessive pronouns. She thinks "his" is "he's," which makes logical sense but also makes her sound like a little Frenchman: "Where's Daddy? I've got heeeeez hat."

Unfortunately, with this has also come her first expression of possessiveness--she used to be really good about sharing, even if other kids tried to grab toys away from her when playing. She'd just hand them over and go find something else. But lately, if Gillian tries to take something from her, or even to play with a toy AC isn't using, AC says, "No! Dat's my's."

And so, we are working on manners, both about possession and about being nice in general. She said to me the other day, "Mommy, stop it!" and I told her very soberly, "Allison Clare, you don't tell Mommy to stop it." So the next day, when I politely asked her to stop doing something please, she turned and said gently to me: "Mommy, you don't tell me to stop." Like she wanted to make the most of the teachable moment.

And when I denied a request for a snack before dinner, I was reminded kindly, "Mommy, be nice to me please."

We have our work cut out for us.

Here are a couple of other moments from the last few days:

AC, standing in the middle of the kitchen, perfectly straight and still, arms down at her side, looking ahead: "Mommy, look, I'm in the elevator."
Me: You are? Where are you going?
AC: I'm going to get some pizza. (Clearly the second-floor food court at the mall has made an impression.)

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AC, to the heating repair man: "Hey, man. Can you do me a favor?"
Heating repair man: "Sure, I'll do you a favor. What can I do for you?"
AC: "Could you get me an ice cream cone?"

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Me: Allison Clare, do you know what Christmas is?
AC: Hmm?
Me: Christmas is Jesus's birthday!
AC, without missing a beat: And we will have a cake, and God will put a candle on it and put the fire in it!