If you missed the explanation for the 10-on-10 back in December 2011 when I started this project, you can catch up by reading the post HERE.
Things I don’t want to forget… (Part I)
You call our yellow lab Riley… Liley.
You know how to pronounce your “R’s”. I know this because for breakfast, lunch and dinner – you ask for “Raisin? Raisin, Mommy. Mommy, raisin?” But Riley… is simply more of a Liley to you. So you call her Liley. And now so do we. Riley doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, I don’t think there is anything you could possibly do that Riley would mind. And we’ve seen you poke her in the eye with your inquisitive fingers, jump up and down on her while yelling “HORSEY!” and take food out of her bowl and put it in your own mouth while she was eating her dinner… much to the dismay of pretty much everyone. But Riley doesn’t mind, because before you came into the world Riley ate her dog food and drank her water. Every day. Same dog food. Same water. But now? Now Riley eats your goldfish, your hot dogs, your animal crackers, your grapes, your vegetables, your pretzels – and whatever else you throw in her general direction that day. Riley LOVES you.
But Mommy caught you in your first fib this week, and you may have thrown this precious dog who worships the ground that you walk on – right under the bus.
It was late afternoon, and you weren’t quite yourself. You were a bit more sensitive and a bit more emotionally fragile than usual and I think you maybe skipped your nap that day. So as we held hands and walked up the stairs together, I asked “What’s going on with you today, Sophia? Why are you such a whiney-pants?”
Now, I didn’t expect an answer to this somewhat grown-up (even though I said whiney-pants) question because it required a bit of introspection. But wasn’t I surprised when you looked right at me and in oscar-winning melodramatic flair you announced: “Lileyyyy! BiiiiiiiiiiiiIIIIIiiite!”
I assured you that Liley most certainly did not bite you, and if I slathered you in peanut butter and accused you of breaking and entering, Liley would still not bite you. And if you were made out of bacon and squeaked like a chew toy… Liley would still not bite you. I think you get the point.
But I still picked you up and cuddled with you and soothed your feelings because as it turns out you needed a hug. Anytime you ever need a hug, I will be ready with open arms and a few hundred kisses. I enjoy them at least as much as you do, but probably more.
You call yourself Soh-pa!
You fully know how to pronounce Sophia. Once when I wrote it out for you and I said “Sophia”, you repeated “Sophia”. But you call yourself Soh-pa! In fact, you have this little game that you like to play that goes something like this:
You: Where Liley?
Me or Daddy: Liley is right there.
You: Where Dad-tea?
Me or Daddy: Dad-tea is right here.
You: Where Mommy go?
Me or Daddy: Mommy is right here.
Me or Daddy: (Because we catch on quick…) Where’s Sophia?
You: (Point to your chest proudly and yell:) Soh-PA!
You say it with all the pride, ferver and charisma of the father of the bride at a Greek wedding. And part of me wishes that we would throw our glasses into the fireplace after someone says Soh-PA! because it does seem appropriate. But we don’t. Because it’s dangerous. And expensive. And it would land our tushies in time-out faster than Mommy could say “It was Soh-PA’s idea!”
You call yourself Soh-pa. And now so do we.
We will wait for Grandma to visit so she can point out that you are actually Scottish, and not Greek. But the Scottish don’t throw their glasses into the fireplace… they are too afraid of wasting that last precious drop.
(to be continued…)
To read the next post in the 10-on-10 circle, please take a visit over to my friend Renee’s page.