Veruca grew up to be a very lovely woman, right?

I dread explaining this one ...
Originally uploaded by toyfoto.

Last night as we sat around the television watching Wallace and Grommit's "Amazing Adventures" for the 400th time, Annabel's primary interest turned to "mountain climbing."

Or more accurately, clamoring up to the back of the couch and announcing: "I'm a mountain, mommy. I'm weary, weary TALL!"

I know she was wired, perhaps overtired, and as she continued to treat the couch like a playground I sat there like a drone, thinking WWLS (What would Lori say). And then she toppled head over heels, tumbling over throw pillows to land on the floor, miraculously, feet first.

I ignored Jed's glare as I waited for her reaction. I thought any second she'd be bawling her eyes out with the shock and indignity of falling unexpectedly. But I was wrong, she climbed back up to the top and yelled, "Look at meeeee, I'm Willy Wonka," referring, no doubt, to the part of the movie where Gene Wilder fakes infirmity and performs a flip after a near pratfall.

And then the UNTHINKABLE happened. (There's MORE you ask?)

Oh yes, it's not enough that she's allowed to run roughshod over the furniture, or that she's commited movies to memory, she's also chosen favorite characters and songs that make us cringe.

She confirmed a parent's worst fear when she climbed back up to the top of the couch, threw back her head and belted out,
"Don't. Care. How. ... I want it NOW."

THE YAYA REPORT
What's happening at the other mom's house

A subliminal game for parents ...

Originally uploaded by toyfoto.

Remember playing that juvenile game of adding "in bed," to the end of every fortune plucked from the cellophane-wrapped cookie that is read aloud? Now I'm kind of doing the same thing in parenthood, only sadly what's in parentheses isn't as funny. Here's an example:

Forever we've been battling personal hygeine wars with the chicklet. Nail clipping among the least reported here on Ittybits & Pieces, but nevertheless a problem of insurmountable proportions (for me). I have to thank Lori profusely for clipping her nails lo these couple-a years since her birth (because I suck as a parent and can't manage to do it myself). I'm not sure how you do it, but now I know: You have exponentially more imagination and communicative powers than I.

Never in a million years would I have thought to go through a ritual as girly as a manicure to interest her in the must-do task. (I knew I should have been born a girl!)

I don't even have to say "use your powers for good," Lori, because I know you wouldn't think of doing anything else.