A hat thing

I want to wear purple tights.

And pink shoes.

But why did Mom have to pull out this hat “to tie it all together?”

Big kid

I can do things by myself, I say to Mom.

You know dat?

Lite brite art

I group bulbs of color on my peg board.

Red here. Green there. Blue and yellow on the other side.

“You know,” Dad says. “You can make shapes, too.”

“Like this,” he says. And makes a ship.

“And this,” he says. And makes a horse.

I stare in awe.

Dad is so cool.

Mom is 3

Dad hands me a box with a cake in it. I carry it up the stairs.

Mom, it’s for you, I yell when I get to the top.

Mom smiles.

PLOP!

I look at the cake. On the ground. In the box.

It looks the same. It has not moved.

“Thank goodness for ice cream cake,” Dad laughs.

I pick it up. And hand it to Mom.

Happy birthday, I say.

“Do you know how old I am?” Mom asks.

Three, I say. Like me!

I run to the cabinet. And pull out the candle from my last birthday.

“Here,” I say. “Use this.”

And she does.

Super duper scuba diver

I wind up my toy. And send it swimming across the tub.

He’s a super duper scuba diver, I say.

“Say that three times fast,” Mom laughs.

The view from my window

Mom and Dad and I drive to a new town. To play.

It rains. And it is cold.

But when we get to our hotel room, the view from my window is bright.

I wear a coat outside.

I wear a swim suit inside.

I want to take this window home with me.

It is magic.

Mom’s Barbie, my Barbie

Mom gives me a Barbie doll. One that she used to play with.

She does not need it anymore.

So it’s my turn to play with her!