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That girl of mine, she is a funny bunny.

Just in the last few days, I've taken to writing down her especially good ones.

Good one #1:

I had told Reese that this year, she and her little brother will be having home birthday parties. We are on an "off" year, having decided after last year's one-year old fifty-person hoopla for Finn followed closely by Reese's four-year old Pump It Up party-rama that we will be having big parties only every OTHER year. This builds in at least one year of recovery time for my nerves, probably not nearly enough. Anyway, we've explained to Reese that on the "off" years, there will be a small celebration at home with as many guests as the birthday kid has years under their belt.

Reese, contemplating the upcoming passing of being four and a half, commented:

"So, at my party, I can have four and half guests, right?"

I'm still envisioning Reese with her four friends and maybe one midget four-year old. I mean, little person four-year old.


Good one #2:

Reese is not fond of people in costumes where you can't see their faces. Which, I suppose, is perfectly understandable. This includes Chuck E. Cheese, Mickey Mouse, Goofy, the Sacramento Kings lion mascot and the Sacramento River Cats River Cat. Whatever that is.

Anyway, I've been trying to work her through this fear over the last few years and yesterday, as we were sitting watching a Wiggles video, she was asking yet again about the Wiggles sidekicks, Wags the Dog and Dorothy the Dinosaur - characters who prance around in big foam suits.

"Reese, those are animals with people inside them. The animal part is just a costume. There are people inside there, " I said, trying to diminish her anxiety.

She sat thinking for a moment. I guess she was thinking of our two dogs, Rose and Logan, because then she said, with a completely straight face:

"So, are there people inside Rose and Logan?"



Good one #3:

My kids get up at the crack of dawn every day.

For years, I fought this. Now, I just try to get some work done before their litle internal early morning clocks go off.

The other day, Chris was already at the gym and I was working on my laptop in bed when Reese stumbled in at around 6 a.m. and crawled in next to me, all warm and sleepy.

"Why are you always on your computer?" she asked me semi-accusingly, as though she'd caught me eating a gallon of Chunky Monkey without her.

"Because Mama decided not to go in the office anymore so I can be with you and Brother more. So now this (gesturing to my computer) is my office," I said, all therapeutic and zen-like.

"I don’t want your bed to be your office. I want your bed to be your bed."

I laughed and then pushed the laptop to the side, gathering her to me, her head on my chest, heart on my heart. We stared off together, quiet, the light of the computer the only one in the room.