Miss Anna Beans

Anna, aka Anna Beans, has been a classic "middle child" since before she knew she was going to be a big sister, that is, completely unpredictable and lovably wild. If I had one parenting-related ability, I think I would choose the opportunity to spend some time inside her head, because she's only two and change and she cracks me up on a regular basis.

For one, she'd have a heck of a future as a litigator. She tries her hardest to convince me to do her bidding, sometimes with success (who can resist that face?), but more often than not in vain. A few days ago, we dropped Mary off at school and I asked Anna if she wanted to go to Target.

"First we get a donut," she said confidently.

"No, no donut today," I said.

"But why? Just one," she wheedled.

"No donut, hon," I said.

"..." she paused. "...Don't you want coffee?"

Or today, naptime. Mary is fast asleep after insisting that there was no way she could ever nap, ever, and Anna is playing quietly on her bed, determined to outlast everyone.

"Mama, is it time to get up now?"

"Nope."

"You sure?"

"Goodnight, Anna."

Two minutes goes by.

"Mama, is it timeta get upnow?"

"No, Anna."

"Say yes. If you say yes, we'll have fun! Yes?"

"Goodnight, Anna."

Eventually I gave up - Tim came home early today and there's no keeping her calm when Daddy's around so it became a moot point.

Usually, no nap for Mary or Anna means I have a crying, freaking out mess of a kid on my hands by dinnthe overtime, but so far, Anna's outlasted her fatigue and has resorted to out and out randomness. She walked up to the coffee table and plunked down no less than five Little People animals (we have Little People issues in this house. We have the zoo, and Noah's Ark, and just about every vehicle they make, so we wind up with situations like there being crocodiles in the nativity and flamingos in the doll house). Two were jaguars. She quietly made them walk up and down the table next to each other, talking to herself quietly, making one animal speak to the other. I listened harder.

"I going to eat you up. I going to eat you up. Ahaha, I going to eat. you. up!"

When she caught me looking at her she grinned and moved her animals, now including a zebra (dessert?) to the piano, where they began what I assumed was another death march. This time she began singing.

"Dear Jesus, I love you, I love you so much." Touching, though given her pretend play last week it was hard to tell if she was referring to our actual Lord and Savior or herself. Neither would surprise me. (As an aside, today "Baby Jesus" did all this and more while wearing a bright striped shirt and a pair of bright purple overalls with donuts embroidered on them which she insists on calling her "donut pants."

And now all of her animals are on the couch, in the Christmas train, fast tracking it away from "da ghost!" and probably ruining my slipcover somehow.

If she ever writes a play, I want to read it.