What'd she say?

I asked Ella (sorry for the repeat - it's been a school transition thing) if she had had an accident in her pants.

No reply.

I asked again.

Nothing.


"Ella, why aren't you answering me?" I question.


"Because you already know the answer."



Our neighbor, Karen, told me this about her kindergartner, Lauren. Lauren was arranging her barbies into categories. Curious, Karen inquired about the method of categorization for the dolls. Lauren said, simply, "No boobs, small boobs and big boobs."


Where are they getting this?


Ella has also told me, hand up like a traffic cop with other hand on hip, to "STOP TALKING" when I am correcting/reprimanding her. "Too much talking, Momma!" she'll tell me. I struggle between agreeing with her and being infuriated.

When Ella was sick a few weeks ago, she came into our bed one night.

"I need a nightlight," she informed us.

We quickly came back with the fact that our room is dark- take it or leave it.

A few moments pass. "I need a juice box." (I have juice boxes by my bed in case of an episode of low blood sugar in the middle of the night. It is Ella's personal mission to wipe out my supply. She covets these juice boxes- the same ones that are downstairs- in a way that makes me wonder if she really wants to see how far down hypoglycemia can take me.)

"No, sorry," comes the reply. "It's the middle of the night."

An exasperated sigh from Ella. "Listen! I can do without a nightlight but I cannot make it without a juice box!"