"Let me think!"

A name I call myself

A conversation I had with Daddy:

"How are you today Daddy?"

"I'm fine, thank you. How are you [my name here]?"

"Actually Daddy, I have a name called Sophie!"

And that made me think. I don't like using my real name when I'm writing because it's a bit unusual, and people might copy it for themselves! All through my holiday last week (which I'll be telling you about soon), I've been calling myself Sophie: Mummy and Daddy took a while to get used to it, but they've cottoned on.

So now I've decided I'll call myself Sophie on my blog. It's a lot prettier than "[my name here]"!

Still Choosey

Mummy still needs practice with this choosing business. So today I set out all my best food in a delectable line across the carpet.

"Choose whatever you like, Mummy!" I said.

"I'll have chicken and a fried egg, please", she said (aren't her manners coming along nicely!). But she obviously wasn't listening carefully enough:

"No Mummy," I told her, "Can't have that. You only like Chicken!"

Precision!

Busy Girl

Whose business should I be minding?

Making Music

I love music.

I love listening to music on the radiator (Daddy sometimes serves up Radio 3 along with my cornflakes). I'm always asking Daddy to play "tap-tap" when we get in the car ("tap-tap" is my short-speak for "If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands tap tap").

It's great sitting on Mummy's lap helping her play the piano, sometimes even with my feet. And dancing to Daddy's accordion music is such an exciting way of exercising.

But there is nothing quite like making music ones self. This morning I found that throwing a box with a metal lid onto the floor made a lovely boioioioioioing noise.

"What sort of music is that?" I asked Daddy.

"Experimentalist music, I think" he said.

Growing up, slowly

As I was walking down stairs this morning (one hand holding the stair rail, the other, Daddy's hand), Daddy said to me,

"You are a big girl now"

"Not big enough", I sighed.

Later, as Daddy was putting my breakfast on the table, I decided that I was big enough to begin to exercise a woman's perogative.

Daddy had already asked me which spoon I wanted to eat my cornflakes with. At my request, he'd given me my Winnie-the-pooh spoon. But as Daddy lifted me into my big-girls chair, I said

"Sorry Daddy, wrong spoon. Need Nemo spoon"

Daddy directed at me that expression that I'm told will become familiar to me as the "Women!" expression. Then he dutifully exchanged my spoon.

Signs

Learning to read is fun, but its a slow, letter-by-letter business. Daddy and I share the work sometimes: he tells me what the word is, and I tell him what the letters are.

One of my favourite things at the moment is reading signs.

What does this one say?

Both of them

"Get Puzzles and Doll's house please, Mummy"

I already had one box of toys out, so I was pushing it a bit; but worth a try anyway.

"You can't have both of them. Which one do you want? Puzzles or Doll's house?"

"Doll's house and Puzzles!"

"You can only have one or the other. If you have the Doll's house, you can't have the Puzzles. So which one do you want?"

"Doll's house"

So Mummy reaches up to fetch it for me.

"And puzzles", I say.

No use crying over spilt ...

I'm currently training Mummy to provide me with a potty, rather than with Nappies. It's much more civillised, but occasionally less convenient.

Today, for example, as I was playing outside, I was much too busy to mention to Mummy that she might like to bring out my portable loo. Shortly thereafter Mummy looked at me with an expression.

"Don't worry, Mummy," I said. "Just wet knickers, and wet floor. I'll sweep it up".

I did go to get the broom, but Mummy didn't seem to think that my help was necessary.

A special visitor

I had a visitor come to see me on Saturday: Daddy's friend from university. She wanted to go to the park, so I agreed to go and play with her (I had to get Daddy and Mummy to take me in the car of course - no knowing what trouble they might get into if I let them go off on their own). After we'd done what she wanted, we got to do what I wanted. Read books:

And then we went home and played in my new sandpit all afternoon. Her hands were lovely for burying.

For tea we had my favourite: garlic breath [I think Squiggler means bread-Ed.] and pizza. Then we ate some of the nice biscuits she'd made for us: I had a number 2 because that's how old I am.

Minding my mes and yous

I mentioned a while back that I have problems with "you" and "me". I'm getting better, but those words do still get themselves confused. Take today for example:

"I love you", says Mummy.

"I love me too", says I.

Mummy must think I'm terribly self-centered!

Choose!

Now that my parents are growing up a bit, I feel it is only right that they should start to learn to make choices. So I've started a new game with them:

"Choose, Daddy", I say, offering him two bracelets.

"I'll have that one", he says, pointing to my favourite.

"Can't have that one", I say. "Choose this one"!

With Mummy, there's no knowing what she might do if given complete freedom. So when I offer her two blocks, I have to be quite careful:

"Choose blue one, Mummy"!

Typing

You wouldn't belive it, but until today, I've never been able to produce anything inteligable when I've set fingers to computer keyboard. I've always relied on my amanuensis - Daddy.

But now I have proof that my own fingers are up to the job. Here it is: every letter typed by myself - Daddy just helped with locating the letters. Oh, and reminding me which order they like to appear in; and which ones to press!

Safari Park

On my Birthday, Mummy and Daddy and Granny and Aunty L and Aunty A took me to the Safari Park (or Safari Car Park as I keep calling it - not inappropriately if you look at the queues to get round it during busy times). We saw several big bad wolves. What do you think they are looking at? (Clue: it wasn't Little Red Riding hood).

There's the answer!


The elephant posed for Aunty L to take a picture.


And the giraffe collected his order from the drive-by!

My Birthday

It was my birthday on Monday. "Two in April", as I've been telling everybody. Here's the official birthday portrait, taken two years-exactly-to-the-minute after I was born.

With great age comes great responsibility, so I though I ought to start cultivating a grown up look. What do you think?
I had my favourite breakfast - Seedy bread and butter.

And Mummy made me a fantastic cake: nice enough to live in! (This was at tea-time, not breakfast time)

Shopping

In Asda today:

"What's this Mummy?"
"I think you know what those are!"
"Mummy, please have Barbie cakes for party"

(It's my Birthday next week, in case you haven't remembered)

Sharing with Mummy

Granny is a pushover. I only have to look in the direction of Greggs the Bakers in town, and she buys me a cake. Or sometimes a biscuit, as she did the other day when I went shopping with her an Mummy.

Only being a nibble-of-the-corners hungry, I soon handed the chewed biscuit to Mummy, who looked at it hungrily. Anybody would think I sometimes forgot to leave bits on my plate after meals for her. I didn't see what she did with it, but later on, I began to feel peckish again.

"Mummy, Bic-Bic, please", I said, being careful of my manners.

"Mummy's eaten all the Biscuit. You said you didn't want it." I hadn't said that at all. Mummy just takes advantage of my uncertain pronunciation when it suits her.

What to do? Then I thought of the Mummy penguins I read about with Daddy in his animal book.

"Spit it out then", I said.

Nightime diversions

I'm getting a little better a settling to sleep now, but I still have to go and see Mummy and Daddy a couple of times every night. They don't seem pleased to see me.

My favourite requests at the moment are for Daddy to "Tell a little story" or "Sing a little Song". Or in my more incoherent moments "Tell a little song" and "Sing a little Story"!

My Dark Side

Mummy and Daddy have been seeing a little of my dark side recently. Fittingly enough, it happens in the middle of the night. Around 3am.

I get fustrated because I can't sleep. I go to get Mummy or Daddy, and they come into my room to try to help, but often it gets too much. Last night I composed a kind of song, set to my roaring in fustration that Daddy was in the room and not Mummy. It went something like this:

Mummy come in soon
Mummy come in soon
Mummy come in soon
Mummy come in later

Chorus:
No like Daddy anymore
No like Daddy anymore
No like Daddy
No like Daddy
No like Daddy anymore

Hurt finger
Mummy come in soon
Hurt finger
Mummy come in soon
Mummy come in soon

Hurt toe
Mummy come in later
Hurt toe
Mummy come in later
Mummy come in later

etc.

My contribution

It suddenly struck me this morning how much I contribute to family life.

I often make sure Daddy dresses himself properly in the mornings. Things like finding his shoes for him, fetching his glasses, useful things like that.

And so, as I handed Daddy his belt this morning, I reminded him:

"The things I do..."!