FLASHBACK: 27, February 2014.
Billie: “Mommy. I love you very twice.”
Me: “Very twice?”
Billie: “Yup! Dat’s a very much a lot.”
Me: “Aw, thanks, Billie. I love you so mu–”
Billie: “Oh, and mommy?”
Me: “Yes, love?”
Billie: “Our doggy is a butt princess.”
Well.
Okay, then.
Good talk.
Billie: “I wish I could be a dog so I can sniff things closer and dig lower like a dog. And lick the rain petals. I would lick all the rain dry.”
Billie: “Do you smell that smell? It smells like a bread I used to have when I was a baby. I used to sneak it when you weren’t looking. I was a secret agent baby and I had a secret agent baby home and a secret agent baby computer. And I made an invention to make me grow bigger so that I would like that food that I’m smelling now. That was when I was little and now I am big. But I am still a secret agent.”
“I can’t take a shower. All I can do is stay alive. And poop.”
And
“The Sandman got me in my eyes. Right in my eyes. All they want to do is close. I don’t think he knew that I was trying to party.”
Me: “Did you know that I love you?”
Billie: “Of course I know that.”
Me: “What?! Who told you??”
Billie: “Nobody told me. I just love you a lot. And when you love someone really, really a lot, like a super big lotta love, sometimes they have so much love that they give you some back.”
Billie: “I told you it would be hard having a child. I told you!”
Me: “What? When could you have possibly told me that?”
Billie: “Before you had me. I came to your dreams and I said, ‘Mommy. It’s going to be hard having a child!’ And you don’t listen to your dreams I guess.”
I’m creeped out.
But also… Inspired?
Billie: “My picture is better than yours. See? It has a blue ribbon on it.”
Me: “Billie, you drew that ribbon on your picture.”
Billie: “Yes. I did. ‘Cause it’s better.”
Me: “What makes it better?”
Billie: “It’s better because it wins. See? It has a blue ribbon on it.”
Me: “I feel like you’re a little biased.”
Billie: “Not biased. Just right.”
Later, Doug caught me looking at the photos and sighing.
Me: “My picture is good, dammit!”
Doug: “Yea, but hers is better.”
Me: “What? Why?”
Doug: “Because it has a blue ribbon on it.”
Sigh.
There is no justice in this world.
UPDATE: due to unfortunate cup placement and bad reflexes Billie’s picture got drenched. Mine remained unharmed.
I swear I had nothing to do with it.
But the huge swelling of schadenfreude that I’m feeling at the accident is making me seriously question my parenting skills.
Doug said Billie was sick.
I said she wasn’t.
“It’s just as cough,” I said. “She’ll walk it off,” I said.
But Doug persisted. “Billie is sick,” he said.
“Right. Yea, Okay. She’ll be fine. If it persists after a week we’ll call a doctor,” I said.
That was 2 weeks ago.
Tonight Billie coughed so hard she threw up on me.
Five. Times.
Hey guys, guess what?
Billie is sick.
Siiiiiigh,
Doug is going to be UNBEARABLE after this.
“Dude. You’re naked. Still. Why are you still naked?”
Billie: “I hear noises outside. I hear the scratching. I think it’s zombies coming up from the ground. It’s zombies coming up from the ground to eat our whole brains out!”
“And that’s why you’re naked? Why can’t you get dressed? Do you really wanna fight zombies naked?”
Billie: “I CANT FOCUS ON CLOTHES WHEN THERE ARE ZOMBIES, MOM.”
This is our morning so far, folks.
Billie’s school has decorative tile that spreads across the entire campus in opaque lines of blue and yellow. Where there are no decorations, the tile is replaced with the obligatory champagne tile that was all the rage in the early 90’s.
Regardless of the tile’s origins, Billie has decided that all the “white” tile is infested with alligators.
This makes our morning walk through campus quite entertaining. While all the other parents shuffle their students in lethargic, herd-like fashion, I weave in and out of the crowd trying to follow my monster as she screams excitedly and narrowly avoids certain death by imaginary alligators.
This morning Billie almost collided head first with a little boy walking with his father, still sleepy and fully unaware of his egregious error of not sharing the blue tile. Billie smacked head first into him, expertly rolled off his shoulder, tip toed around him, and continued on her quest of not getting eaten while simultaneously screaming, “WE NEVER KNOW WHERE THEY ARE! THE ALLIGATORS! THEY COULD BE ANNNNYWHERE.”
I look at the father apologetically. “I’m so sorry,” I say, “the white tile is infested with alligators.”
“Oh,” his eyes widen with empathetic understanding, “I totally get it.” He smiles and looks down at his son who is now asking him about the alligators.
“Yup,” he responds genuinely, “you heard her, there are alligators in the white tile. You’d better run!”
His son paused a moment, looked at me, looked at his father, then ran after Billie screaming, “Ah!! Wait for meeee!!”
The father laughed with his whole belly before looking at me and saying, “This’ll get him to class faster. Good trick. Thank you.”
Ha. Anything we can do to help, buddy.
Billie's Momma 