More from the Mouth of Meg

"Did you play on the playground today?" I ask as we drive away from preschool car pool.

"Well . . . " Meg begins. She's so animated and involved in her story telling these days, many of her responses begin that way. With hand motions . . . like lifting her arms, bent at the elbow, and turning her hands over, palms up, then bouncing them up and down as she talks. Or putting her little fingers close to her mouth like a megaphone. All for emphasis, I'm sure.

"When we got ready to go out side, it wasn't quite sunny enough to play outside. So we had to go to the big room (gym) and play a wittle bit. Then we checked again, and it was quite sunny enough, so we got to go outside and swide."

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Meg sleeps with 2 lovees. She needs both of them to sleep . . . though they are identical blankets. Our original thought was that we'd have 2 of the same lovee . . . one for the car or the wash, one for her to love. But somehow, she ended up with both. Now we need them both. So, Meg sleeps with 2 lovees.

Sometimes she likes to pretend she doesn't need the lovees for sleeping. The truth is, they are a great source of comfort for her, and she does need them to help her settle in and rest. But, she sometimes likes to play the 'big girl' card and tell me she does not need her lovees.

"Where are your lovees?" I ask as Meg and I settle in for some bedtime stories.

"I don't need them. I'm a big girl, so I don't need my lovees," Meg tells me.

Sigh. This happens a lot -- the lovees disappear as we go through the bedtime routine. I think it's a ploy to stretch out her bedtime.

"Meg, please go get them. I don't want to start reading and you to start complaining because you don't have your lovees. It's okay to sleep with them -- it doesn't make you a baby," I say.

"But, Mommy. I don't need them. Trust me," she replies.

Trust me. Really? My 3 year old says, "Trust me." ??

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Meg: "Mommy, can we get another baby?"

Me: "What?!"

Meg: "I'm ready for you to get another baby."

After scoffing, I reply, "Well, since we are ordering up babies, do you want a boy or a girl?"

Meg: "A girl. We can name her Jim. Daddy would like that."

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"Mommy, when I grow up, I want to be like you."

A blushing and flattered mother replies through her smiles, "What do you mean?"

"Like, a Mommy. I want to be a Mommy like you."
"Oh, I hope so, Meg. And what will you do when you are a Mommy?" Mom asks.
"Take care of me and Kate, like you do," Meg matter-of-factly states.

In that moment, I felt really, truly appreciated. It was sweet to see that Meg recognizes all the things that her mommy does for her.

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Riding in the car . . . when some of our best conversations occur. So many witty comments occur while driving, I have started carrying a little pad and paper with me so that I can remember some of the best ones. This one happened on a Sunday, after a shopping errand with everyone in tow.

"Daddy, when we get home, can I have some more juice?" asked Meg.

"I don't know, Meg. You've already two cups of juice today. That's a lot," Daddy replies. (Good Daddy!)

"Two cups is not a lot of juice, Daddy. TEN cups is a lot of juice. Two is not a lot," replied Meg.

Jim and I both laughed . . . we had to try not to laugh out loud for fear that she'd realize she was being cute. Meg can really ham it up if she knows she's amusing us.

"How about this, Meg. Two cups might not be a lot, but it's enough. We'll talk about milk or water when we get home," Daddy said.

"Okay. But it's not a LOT. Two cups of juice is not a lot of juice, Daddy," says Meg. She has to have the last point in the conversation on many occasions.

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Just a side note: Meg does, in fact, address us as "Mommy" or "Daddy" as often as I state in these little quips. She calls us by name nearly all the time . . . sometimes I hear "Mommy" so many times in one day, I want to scream. (I'm terrible, I know.) She can't start a conversation without saying, "Mommy . . ." and she rarely continues what she is saying until I respond with, "Yes, Meg?" It's cute -- and I waited my whole life to be called Mommy -- but I often wonder how many times a day I hear my own name.