Summertime Fun

Yesterday was my birthday, and since I still had to watch my summer girl, I decided that we would just take it easy and do something that I wanted to do. So we went shopping.

To her credit, my summer girl is a good little shopper. She enjoyed walking through the boutiques and looking at the pretty jewelry and purses. Sometimes there would be a statue of a dog or a little boy that she'd comment on. She was very good about being careful in "fragile stores," asking for my help if she wanted to see something. She loved the pet store (duh), and enjoyed the chocolate chip cookie I let her have while I ate my soup. Overall, she was very content going to all of my stores, as long as I allowed her a little time to explore as well.

As we walked from store to store she pretty much carried the conversation. She loves to talk with me, which is wonderful, but I admittedly glaze over from time to time. I have learned the cues, though, for when I am to respond.

"Oh, yeah?"
"Really?"
"You don't say..."
"That's so cool!"

So there we were at the outdoor mall, strolling between stores, and she says to me very casually,

"There's the American Idol Car."

"Oh, yeah?" I respond. "That's so cool!"

Hey, wait. The what?

I turned to see what car we had just passed. There, right at her eye level, was a shiny pearl white truck. And in the space where the front license plate should have been was a decorative plate with the make logo in the dead center:

Playing Hotel

Yesterday I was trying to get a few chores done while taking care of my summer little girl. As I unloaded the dishwasher, she asked me if I could come play "beach vacation" with her and her doll friends who had already started this adventure and been sprawled across the couch catching some rays since I had arrived. Instead of just refusing to play, I decided that I'd try to include her in what I was doing, hoping that this might cushion the blow later in the day when I knew I'd have to tell her to entertain herself. Instead I offered to be the "hotel manager" in charge of the hotel where her and her friends were staying. This worked out well, as there is a counter between the kitchen and the living room in her house with another couch in front of it that she loves to climb on.

She bounced up to the counter with her baby and announced that she would like a hotel room.

"Absolutely, ma'am," I chirped. "How many beds would you like?"

"Just one," she responded.

"Will you be needing a crib?" I asked, referencing her baby.

"No."

"No?" I asked again. "Not for your baby?"

"No," she affirmed.

I let it go.

"Alright," I continued, "would you like a king-sized bed or a queen-sized bed?"

She thought for a minute and arrived at a decision.

"I would just like a daughter-sized bed."

I stifled my laughter, swiped her "credit card," had her sign her "bill," and sent her back to the beach.