Montesorri, baby?

"You love your children. And God makes them different, so you love them even more." My sister in law told me this once.

My current thoughts on this are, "hell yeah he does."

Tallulah gets herself up in the morning. She takes off her diaper and puts it in the trash. She gets herself dressed down to shoes. She does all of this without being told.

When I was sick, she went to the pantry and got food for her and her sister.

Yesterday, I found her drinking milk from the jug. She had literally moved a chair to the refrigerator, got out the milk, and had herself a swig. "I was tuwsty."

We have this plate, and it has a huge crack on it. It is the plate that Annabelle hated when she was three. And if it was put in her place for dinner she would scream and cry and have a tantrum about it. The other night, I set it at Tallulah's place. I was curious to see if she would hate it too, especially since she is so neat about things and eschews cracks, dirt and imperfections in general. Turns out, she didn't like it either. But instead of screaming and crying about it, she just moved it to my spot. Problem solved.

She knows how to change the tv channel, dial the phone, look at pictures on our phones, and do crazy stuff with the iPad. All self taught. Her sister still struggles with knowing which is the on button on the remote. Can you say Luddite?

She wants to do everything for herself and by herself. So, what do I do with this child? Who is so competent and capable, but still gets concepts like forward and backward confused, let alone knowing all the different types of dinosaurs and whether they were theropods or sauropods--things that Annabelle had mastered at this age.

Do I send her to the Montessori school down the street, which would totally be a good fit for her, when her time comes for kinder?

Probably not. Because being in two different PTAs would kill me.

The whistle

For reasons that no one will ever really be able to understand, yesterday, while at Southland Hardware, dumb dumb, aka hyphen, decided to buy the girls whistles. Coach style whistles.

Annabelle got hers last night, and in her way of playing, she began to try and whistle songs and blow on it in different ways trying to make different sounds, asking us what each one sounded like. She tied a string around it and put it in the "art studio," for later use.

Tallulah got hers today.

And in her way of playing, she blows it. She blows it loud and proud.

She blows it in the van. She blows it inside the house. At the table. May I just say, your ears have never really experienced pain until you are sitting in a minivan where a three year old is blowing a whistle.

She keeps it in her purse, along with a magnifying glass, a pretend phone(which, she informs me, has games on it, unlike mine), a treasured pair of clip on earrings, a broken tiara that is more like a headband, and various chapsticks. Tallulah is nothing if not prepared.

She takes the purse with her everywhere, and sleeps with it, along with 25 stuffed animals. So it was not entirely unexpected, but still totally annoying, when tonight, after calling for me about 5 times, I heard the whistle.

My first thought: ummm, no. My second thought: the person who created this problem needs to fix it.

"Hieu..."

He was in the bathroom and not responding.

She blew it about 3 more times, each time louder and I was starting to get really hacked, especially since the girls share a room and Annabelle was asleep.

"Hieu, go deal with that."

"Dude, she is calling you not me, we both know that." He said this with goofy half smile he gets when he knows he has done wrong.

I went in the room. She just wanted to tell me goodnight. And she wanted me to hustle up.