Becky

When I think about it objectively, R is a pretty amazing kid. In the last year she's had her entire world rocked, and she's come out mostly unscathed. She's survived me going on bed rest, having two new brothers in the hospital, having two new brothers at home, having one of those brothers back at the hospital, me going back to work, moving, and two long vacations.

Not only has she survived it, she’s mostly thrived, amazing us regularly. There was one day a couple of months ago where we sent her off to play with a sheet of alphabet stickers while we were busy with the boys. She came back with a sheet of colored paper on which she had used stickers to write her name, by herself, using both upper and lower case letters. We didn’t even know she knew lower case much less how to spell her name!

Another time last spring I was getting the boys ready to go to the beach and she was driving me nuts. To get her out of my hair, I told her to go pack her stuff. I told her she would need her swimsuit and an extra shirt and pair of shorts. I also told her to put books and things to do in her backpack so she could play while we were visiting with grown-up friends. I didn't expect her to comply. But she did. Not knowing where to put them, the swimsuit and clothes were piled together on her floor. Her backpack was crammed full of the other items. If only she could reach the faucet to refill her own sippy cup, she would’ve been ready to go.

And there is nothing like listening to R play. She has a vivid imagination, and it is always entertaining to hear the adventures of her stuffed animals, dollhouse family, and the menagerie of plastic characters that live in the bathtub. Lately she has taken to giving all the characters voices and nothing cracks me up like hearing her do male voices (well, aside from the voices of the mice in Cinderella which she can imitate disturbingly well). There was a night in the bathtub a couple of weeks ago in which Ariel (that’s the Little Mermaid to those of you not indoctrinated into the madness of Disney princesses) was fighting with her dad, played by a large plastic duck that was oozing a bit of black mold from his bill and looked like he had an unfortunate medical condition.

They had the following conversation:

Daddy Duck: (Somewhat chipper and in his deep, daddy voice) Ariel, time for bed!
Ariel: (In a girl voice even squeakier than her own) I’m not tired.
DD: I said it’s time for bed.
Ariel: But I’m not tired.
DD: (Growing impatient) You need to go to bed.
Ariel: But I don’t want to go to bed.
DD: (Angry) Go to bed.
Ariel: I don’t want to.
DD: GO TO BED!

And then Ariel stomped (splashed) off to bed.

It was pretty hilarious, especially since she has never fought us about going to bed or taking a nap. She occasionally sneaks a few (dozen) extra things on to her bed, but she cheerfully goes there.

These are the things I have to remind myself of, because often, she is not this much fun. It has only recently come to my attention that three-year-old girls can be a million, bajillion times worse than their two-year-old counterparts. They are conniving little demons cleverly disguised as Disney princesses with fake plastic tiaras on their heads. You think I'm joking, but I read it on the internet, so it must be true!*

Jeff and I have nicknamed this strange little alter ego Becky, and we never know when Becky will show up. We certainly weren’t expecting her last Friday morning.

I was working a half day from home on Friday, so Jeff suggested that we take a family trip to the aquarium on Friday morning. At breakfast, we told R of the plan. She was all excited and started naming the things she thought she would see at the aquarium. When we told her she probably wouldn’t see any mermaids, Becky emerged. Becky told us she would be watching videos when we got home. We told her maybe. Then she decided that we needed to do crafts RIGHT THEN. We told her no. She was not happy.

We had fun at the aquarium with just one minor breakdown. When we got done, we needed to stop and feed the boys before getting into the car. We headed to the museum café, and Jeff and I each grabbed a baby. Normally she is fine just hanging out with us or talking to us when we are feeding the babies, but this time Becky had other things on her mind. She ran around. She climbed on things. She played with the vending machine. She was an all-American brat. We finally resorted to bribery offering her a sno-cone if she just sat with us while we fed the boys. She sat. So then we got a blue sno-cone to share, and she was happy with the purchase. Then she threw a fit when we finished the sno-cone because she also wanted ice cream.

After we left, she battled us in the car because she wanted to pick where we ate lunch. Thankfully, it turned out she was just hungry, and she felt much better after consuming a platter of fried shrimp. (I did joke with Jeff that our kids are going to be so confused when we travel and the kids’ menus in other places don’t all have fish and shrimp.)

Things were actually okay when we got home, but Becky popped up again after dinner. At that point Jeff looked at her and asked if she was acting like a Becky. She looked at him confused, as we haven’t let her in on the nickname. Then she answered, “I’m not a Becky. I’m a girl.” And for the rest of the night, she was just a girl, and a sweet little one at that.

*It was recently discussed in Parents magazine and was referenced in this post at dooce.com. And just FYI, if you aren’t a Dooce fan, I think she is fabulous, but she is a little rough around the edges, so reader beware.