Sophie on a Thursday

• Finds a tampon in my gym bag and claims it as her own, calling it her vampire. (A simple mispronunciation, or is she unconsciously confusing one bloodsucker with another? Hoo-AH!) "It so pretty! It has stripes!" (The packaging has stripes. I knew what you were thinking. Sickos.) Periodically (Ba-DUM-bum) hides the tampon behind her back and announces, "I got a surprise for you, Mama!" Whips her hands in front of her with a flourish. "Ta-DA! A vampire for you to love!"
  
• When I tell her I Tivo'd "Backyardigans" for her, she throws her arms in the air and yelps, "Yay! I so proud of you, Mama!"
• Asks to go to the pool. I explain the pool is closed until next summer. Scrunches her face up and glares at me. "I ask Grandma to take me! Grandma LOVES me!"
• Story game...Me: "And then the bear did a happy dance and...what happened next?" Sophie: "And then the bees flied all around his nose and the bear died. The bees died him. The end." Second attempt...Me: "So the bear tiptoed into the house to take a nap and...what happened next?" Sophie: "And the bees grabbed the bear's arm and that not nice! And the bear died. The end." Third attempt...Me: "The beautiful butterfly flew high above the clouds with the fairies and...what happened next?" Sophie: "The bear died like this [lies flat on back on floor] and he died [pointing] here and here and here and here and here and allllllllllllll over the floor and the bees said 'Yay!' The end."
• Gets frustrated helping with laundry because I give her too many clothes to carry at a time. "Mama, you are getting me nuts," she mutters.
• Sophie: "Mama, I went poop." Me: "Uggh. Okay. Just...next time, will you please tell me before you go poop so we can sit on the potty? Please please please with sugar on top?" Sophie: "Sugar on top...of my bottom?"
  
• Declares me a better singer than Tasha the hippopotamus on "Backyardigans." I open my mouth to thank her when she adds, "And you look like her, Ma-ma! Mama, you a pretty hippo!"
• Refuses to put on shirt because the tag itches. Insists on wearing bathing suit under it before leaving the house. "You are just doing this because Emma does," I accuse. "Yep," she confirms.
• Sophie: "Mama, I peed on the floor." Me: "Uggh. Sophie! You're killing me!" Sophie: "I no killing you, Mama. Don't say that! That not nice." Bursts into tears.
  
• Lights up when I explain that our street is filled with forklifts dumping huge pounds of dirt into holes because they are planting trees and flowers. "That's a GREAT idea!" she says. Shouts out the window at the construction workers, "Good job, con-cussins! Good job, dirt! The flowers will look so bee-autiful!"
  
• Grabs my arm at 10:05am and says, "I ready for night-night." We read a book, sing a song, turn out the lights. I put her in the crib and am just closing the door when she shouts, "I all done!" I turn and ask, "Seriously? You're kidding me, right?" Oblivious to my sarcasm, she grins and gushes, "I no kidding, Ma-ma. Mama, I had a good nap."
  
• Screams following phrases from bedroom to avoid napping (successfully, I grudgingly add): "I just need to whisper you somefing, Mama." "Ma-ma, I want another story!" "Maaaaa-ma...what happen next, Ma-ma?! What. happen. NEXT?" "Mommy! It 9 of the clock, time to wake up now!" "Mommy, my butt hurts. You need to kiss it, Mama!"
  
• Keeps asking if we can go to the cube-li-esque store. All day long: "Mama, when we going to the cube-li-esque store?" Finally dawns on me about 4 o'clock that she means the UPS store.

Dude. Your head is HUGE.

Emma has recently started carrying a notebook and pen everywhere she goes. She draws and writes in it. She is prone to whipping the notebook out at any given moment and mumbling things like "that's a good idea for a song" or "oooh...I want to draw that." It's all very artsy and deep...and, of course, very cute.

Yesterday, she drew the members of our family.
Doesn't everyone look lovely? Sure, our toothpick legs seem ready to buckle under the strain of carrying around heads large enough to be spotted from outer space, but we are still a good-looking bunch. Emma did explain that she gave Sophie and me long hair because she doesn't know how to do short hair. Although...that sure looks like short hair I see in Chris's picture. But hey - who am I to question an artist's process? At least we look happy, with beautific smiles pasted on all our faces. Oh yeah. Excuse me. What I meant was...on all our faces except MINE. Yep, my pic looks like I just sat on an upended nail and can't decide if I liked it or not. Emma told me she drew my "surprised face" because that's how I always look. What the what? Seriously? I always look like I'm high? I always look like I'm hypnotized? I always look like I can't take my eyes off the crossbeams emanating from the mother ship?

Weird, to think this is how she sees me. I was actually fired from a job once because they said I didn't smile enough. Guess I need to get happier, stat. Or at least my face does.

The Storm of Sophie

Sophie has been out-of-sorts lately. And by out-of-sorts, I mean she has been a complete maniac. Neither of my children are sedate individuals. Both are prone to extreme tantrums, but Sophie's are usually manageable. However, she's been feeling icky and sleeping poorly the last few days, and the cumulative result is an easily triggered, deeply disconsolate Sophie Patrice.

This morning, Sophie was one long storm of rage. She kicked, wailed, threw things, screamed, clawed her face, pulled clumps of hair out, spit, snarled, roared. At one point, she actually flipped over the kids' table in our living room like a toddler version of The Incredible Hulk. I haven't seen her like that in a long, long time. Tantrums trigger many feelings in me - annoyance, anger, frustration, loneliness, betrayal, sadness, humor. (Especially humor. I mean, sometimes life is so ludicrous, what else can you do but laugh?) But ones like today are truly heartbreaking. It literally makes my chest ache to see her so upset and know there is absolutely nothing I can do to make her feel better. She does not want to be touched or cuddled or soothed in any way. She just wants to get her anger OUT. So I sit and wait, and sit and wait, and sit and wait...and eventually, she comes out the other side and collapses into my arms, finally ready to be consoled.

It took us about an hour to get on Sophie's socks and shoes this morning. ONE. HOUR. (Maybe others would have given up, but faced with the choice of going to the gym and letting others deal with her or giving up and being stuck with her all by myself, I opted for perseverance.) I decided to videotape her towards the tail end of the tantrum. Why, you ask? Because it occurred to me that I am always recording cute, memorable moments of the kids that often showcase their best sides. Yet this side of Sophie is as real as any other, and an essential part of what makes her...well, HER. And when I look back on the girls' younger years, I want to remember them as accurately as I can. Besides, this isn't even remotely the worst of it - the presence of the camera seems to distract her, and by the end of the clip she gives in and seeks physical contact (hence the dramatic flinging of herself into my lap), which usually signifies a turning point in the onslaught. Still, it is a glimpse.

A few minutes ago, Sophie woke up smiling after a long nap and declared, "Mommy! I don't feel gross anymore!" I am crossing my fingers that she is right. Either way, I'm here and waiting with hugs at the ready whenever she needs them. It's all I know to do.

Emma: A Self-Portrait

The worksheet below came home in Em's school folder today. God, I adore this kid.

Potty Training: Progress Report 3

Sophie has managed to acquire eight stickers on her potty chart this week. She even earned her first special treat - a Snow White Polly Pocket Play Set. Yay!
However, in the interest of full disclosure, I feel compelled to add that at least three of those stickers were gained by less than a handful of pitiful little urine drops that just happened to fall into the toilet. And yes, while there have been celebratory moments this week, Sophie has also peed on the floor of just about every room in our apartment, as well as all over Aunt Jayme's shoes, our couch, the living room rug, and an innocent baby doll's head. In addition, there have been countless instances of poop-in-the-panties, and a few hours ago I stepped on a huge wet steaming glob of Sophie poo on the bathroom floor...IN MY BARE FEET.

At this point, I would say failures are outweighing successes, but I vow to stay strong. Um...well, later. Yeah. That's right. LATER, I will stay strong. Right now, I just have to say: I. HATE. POTTY. TRAINING. It SUCKS, it is DISGUSTING, and I don't understand why there aren't any professionals out there that I can hire to do it FOR me. I mean, I'm talking about a niche market in a crappy economy that is just WAITING to be exploited, so why isn't anyone out there DOING it?! Doesn't anyone get how many desperate parents there are in this world who would meet any price? Plus, we are all stupid enough to KEEP REPRODUCING, which means a neverending stream of customers! Hello...is anyone LISTENING? There are people out there willing to wade through garbage and plunge toilets for a living. There is even an outfit in this city that you can pay to get rid of your kid's head lice! Yet no one will take on my two-year-old? I would give ANY AMOUNT OF MONEY. I would rob a bank, I don't CARE, just somebody else do it for me please please please please please, for the love of god PLEASE!

O-kay. Deeeeeeeeep breath. In, and out. IN. And. OUT. Good. All right. Glad I got that off my chest. I actually feel a little bit - TINY bit - better.

In times like these, I find it prudent to remind myself of the many things I do adore about my child...my lovely, adorable, obstinate, willful, nonstop-peeing-and-pooping child. Hence, this video:

Potty Training: Progress Report 2

Call the media, people. Sophie took her first dump on the potty today!

WARNING: If you are uncomfortable with poop talk, then this is the wrong blog for you, my friend. Take your delicate constitution and leave immediately, never to return.

Potty Training: A Progress Report

Apparently, the toilet is continuing to do REALLY well at potty training. Look at all the stickers it has acquired! (Yes, I know...I was quite surprised at it's progress too.)

Exhibit A:

And Sophie? Um...well, let's just say she has a ways to go.

Exhibit B:

TGIF

Ah, Friday. Professional development for the teachers, so no school. A full day of just me and the girls.

We started off the day at the gym, of course. (I will go hungry before voluntarily consuming almost anything healthy, yet I am religious about my workouts. Go figure, huh?) The weather was nasty this morning - dark clouds, gusty winds, sporadic rain. Emma feared a tornado was on the way. I assured her it was highly unlikely, but she wanted to know exactly what would happen if one was spotted. After walking her through the safety procedures for a tornado, we entered the gym. Like always, the front desk employee greeted us with a smile and a friendly hello. Emma immediately demanded, "Do you have a basement in here? Because a tornado is coming." After multiple reassurances that we were not, in fact, psychic meteorologists and the building did not need to be put on tornado alert, I dropped the kids at the nursery and hit my spin class. The next hour passed by in a sweaty haze of me failing to get my RPMs up to 128 (128! What do I look like, The Terminator?) while the girls built playdoh castles. No sirens, no tornadoes, all safe.

Then we were off to feed our friends' cat Marge. Hmmm. Cats. Cats, cats, cats. [Sigh.] I don't know...I just don't get them. It literally took me 20 minutes to get inside the apartment because the lock loves messing with me, and poor Marge was meowing behind the door like a madman the entire time. Yet the minute we stepped inside, Marge played all cool and wanted nothing to do with us. Sophie just wanted to pet and kiss and snuggle and squeeze and LOVE that cat, and you'd think after being alone for five days that the cat would want at least a tiny bit of affection...but, you'd think wrong. Marge just stared at me, stoically enduring Sophie's ministrations, willing me with his eyes to FEED HIM. NOW. (Btw, I'm not confusing my pronouns. Marge is indeed a boy.) As soon as I put food on the plate, we were all promptly dismissed. I tried to brush his fur, but he gave me such a scathing "Are you kidding me?" look that I immediately stopped. Sophie was determined to get that cat to love her, but after a couple of unmistakable "back OFF" feline hisses, I pried Sophie away. We hung out a few minutes to see if Marge might feel more social after eating, but with a flick of his tail he jumped on the couch and proceeded to bare his teeth whenever we approached. So, as Sophie wailed "Why da kitty not like me Mama? WHYYYYYYYY?", we skedaddled out the back door.

Next we hit the grocery to stock up on a few provisions. We only needed three things, so I decided to skip the cart and let the girls walk with me. BIG mistake. "Dancing Queen" was playing over the loudspeaker, and the girls took the song to heart, boogieing up and down the aisles. They were clearly having fun, which was fun to for me to watch. But the people they kept running into didn't seem to be having quite as much fun as we were. One lady curled up her lip and practically hissed at me, "Please control your children." She reminded me quite a lot of Marge, actually. We only had one item at that point, but I figured that was our cue to leave.

Once home, we had lunch and watched Cinderella. The girls only engaged in six fights, with less than half ending in tears. Honestly? That's a successful couple of hours in our house. The girls love the part of the movie when the fairy godmother sings "Bibbity Bobbity Boo." They danced all over the living room. Also, Sophie is obsessed with the stepsisters' mean cat. Even though the cat is clearly evil, every time he appears on the screen she coos, "Aw, he cute. Cute kitty!" As the end credits rolled, the girls erupted in applause. (Princesses are VERY big around here.)

Next: Naptime. Emma crashed with me, Sophie in her room. I had a hard time getting Sophie to settle down because she kept asking me when we were going back to visit the cat. (If you are into drinking games, I suggest you take a shot every time the word "cat" appears in this blog post. And then don't drive. Because you are now very drunk.) Emma rarely naps anymore, but sometimes she likes to snuggle and sleep with Chris or me. She wrapped her hands around my arm and drooled on my shoulder, just like she used to do as a baby. I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

We didn't wake up until almost 4 o'clock. Oh, Glorious Nap, how I worship you! Both girls were clingy and disoriented from so much sleep, so the three of us burrowed into the couch together and watched Powerpuff Girls until Daddy came home.

We didn't go to the zoo or the museum or the nature center - all ideas I had tossed around as a means of filling the day. I got exactly nothing accomplished around the house and my to-do list remains untouched. But after lunch, Emma climbed onto my lap and said, "Mama, I love spending time with you at home. I miss you when I'm at school." That, to me, is a successful day. Just a regular, run-of-the-mill Friday with my beauties.

Danger = Reward

Remember that whole stuck-in-the-elevator post from a few days ago? Well, I got the part. It's a super tiny role, but the play is being performed at Steppenwolf (not BY Steppenwolf, just AT Steppenwolf, but still...I'll take it). Oh, and also - it has robots in it. Yes, I said ROBOTS. Personally, I think that's just too cool to pass up.

Hopefully getting stuck in that elevator helped recharge my karma, because frankly it needed a bit of readjusting. Still...I don't think I'm going to the Hancock Building again any time soon.

Ignore Meen Peeps

One of Emma's current vocabulary words is IGNORE, and her teacher sent home some work that Em did in school yesterday. (Click on the pic to see it more clearly.)
When I read the worksheet all the way through, I laughed out loud. I think my favorite part is the teacher's "Unique!" sticker. Then I asked Emma as casually as possible, "Hey, honey? Are you having any problems with Ani at school?" She shrugged and answered, "No. I just ignore her."

I think Emma has the definition of this particular vocabulary word down.

Sophie on a Monday

• Feeling lazy, I ask Sophie if she minds skipping the gym today. Her eyes light up. "We skipping to the gym today, Mama? Yes!" And off she goes.
• Finds Emma's gum on the dining room table and carries pieces around like babies all day, counting them ("Mama! I got 5 gum babies now!") and putting them down for naps. At one point I overhear her say, "You good babies. When I bigger, I EAT you!"
• Watches a "Zaboomafoo" episode about pets, and every time a kitten comes on the screen she screams, "Hi, Oz! Mama, it Oz! Why he not say hi to me?" [Sidebar: Oz is Aunt Jayme's cat.]
• Points to the words HAPPY MEAL written on the box of her, um...happy meal. "Look what it says, Mommy! D. I. E. S. Dat spells Sophie!" [Sidebar: Yeah, my almost-three-year-old doesn't know her letters yet. Hey, we can't all be prodigies.]
• Casually mentions she put a sticker on the potty while whipping past me with her stroller. Curious, I go in the bathroom to check it out. Indeed, she is telling the truth (see pic). When I ask why, she says, "Potty is a big girl now!" [Sidebar: Yeah, my almost-three-year-old isn't potty trained yet. Hey, we can't all be prodigies.]

• Brings me a tangled cluster of wooden chairs and Barbie dolls and asks, "Mommy, can you help me carry these? They are not coperlating wif me."
• Clenches her fists and shouts, "Emma! Stop! You make-a me MAAAAAAAD! Like thunder!"
• Randomly announces, "Mommy? You are my Mommy. And Daddy...Daddy is my friend."
• Asks for more cheese. "Just a minute," I reply. "I. Want. More. CHEESE!" Sophie screams. "Sophie! I said just a minute please," I say. "No!" Sophie declares. "You did NOT say please. And now you make me YELL AT YOU!"
• Insists on giving kisses on various body parts instead of the traditional lip location. Kissed Emma goodnight on her hip; my goodnight kiss landed somewhere near my collarbone. Before her nap today, she asked if she could kiss my butt. [Sidebar: Regular readers, you know what kind of mom I am. Do you think I conceded to her request? I'll let you decide.]
  

Auditioning IS dangerous!

Had an audition on the 22nd floor of the Hancock Building today and got stuck in the elevator for 20 minutes afterward.

I remained pretty calm in the beginning. In fact, swear to God, after it sunk in that I was indeed stuck, I thought, "I wonder if Keanu Reeves is gonna come save me?" (He is so HOT! But I digress.) I took a deep breath, focused, and tried to think through exactly how I could alert someone to my situation. I lit up the buttons for every floor, pounded on the door, pushed the alarm bell about 10,000 times, yelled "Can anybody hear me?" until I was hoarse. When all these attempts failed, I sent Chris a bizarre text instructing him to call The Cheesecake Factory (of COURSE this was the first nearby business that popped into my mind) and inform them that his freaked out wife was being held captive by malfunctioning elevator parts. As my calmness began to evaporate, I even jumped up and down a couple of times before deciding that probably wasn't such a good idea. But I didn't truly start to panic until I pressed a big, silver button labeled PUSH TO TALK that sat on top of what looked to be some kind of speaker. I expected to hear a live person who would listen to my predicament and then talk me down while assuring me that help was on the way. Instead, I was greeted by loud static and a robotic voice repeating "Emergency in elevator B" over and over and over and over again. It. Would. Not. Stop. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I kept shrieking, "Hello? Is anybody there?" into the speaker, hoping against hope that someone with an actual pulse would come on the line so I could tell them to kick the robot guy's ASS.

Finally, after 15 minutes and zero progress as far as I could tell, I gave serious consideration to the only option I had not tried: the red emergency button. It had a little fire hat icon and was labeled "Fire emergency only. Delivered to lobby." I hesitated so long before pressing it because a) it seemed like a last-resort button, and I kept having visions of the entire Chicago Fire Department being summoned to 875 N. Michigan Ave. and then calling the police to arrest me for claiming a false emergency; and b) I had no idea how high up I was stuck, and the words "delivered to lobby" terrified me. What did that mean, anyway? Was the elevator suddenly going to plummet several floors at the speed of light? And if so, could my heart and bladder take that?

Despite my reservations, by this point I was getting desperate. So I took a deep breath, braced myself, and pushed the button. Annnnnddd...nothing. Not a thing. Absolutely. Nothing. HAPPENED. I started beating the hell out of the button, thinking maybe it was just stuck. Once reality set in, I sat on the floor and had myself a good cry.

Just about then, of course, the elevator started to move. It came to a stop approximately 6 seconds later, the doors opened easily, and ta da! I was in the lobby, safe and sound. And who, you might ask, was there to greet me? The fire department? Nope. Police? Nope. Building staff? Nope. Concerned citizen? Nope. ANYONE? No. No one waiting, no one around, not a soul. I even headed toward the security desk to let them know what had happened, but no one was there either. I suspect they were all huddled in a little room somewhere, taking turns talking into a microphone like a robot and laughing their heads off. Shaken and weepy, I noticed the door for The Cheesecake Factory was directly on my left. One slice of Oreo cheesecake later, I was feeling a bit better.

Still. Not one of my better afternoons. All I know is this: I totally better get a callback.

The sweetness of Sophie

I feel so blessed to have a daughter that always reminds me to stop and smell the flowers.

Literally. Every time we walk out of our building, Sophie halts before our landlord's gorgeous potted violets and says, "Mama! We hafta stop and smell da flowers!" Every. Time. The habit usually annoys me in the moment, particularly if we are in a hurry. Yet I often reflect on the ritual later, wishing ruefully that I could do a better job of following my daughter's lead.

We just finished the second week of first grade, and we are still a little off kilter from the change in pace. Emma is exhausted and moodier than usual. So, like, INSANITY moody instead of her normal ridiculous moody. (To the point that I seriously wondered whether or not a six-year-old could have PMS. Children's Midol, anyone?) Em's homework load is even more intense this year. She has two math worksheets every day, 15 spelling words a week, required reading every night, and 3-5 extra worksheets to do over the weekend. It is a LOT of work, and it will only get harder as the year progresses. I am thankful in many ways that Em is part of the accelerated program at her school, but admittedly there are times I wish she could just be "normal" smart so she wouldn't have to deal with all this extra pressure. I've said from the very beginning that if the gifted program feels like too much, we are pulling her out. So, we'll see how it goes. She is sleeping over at her friend Olivia's this evening. When I left, they were playing piano and wrestling and watching Snow White and definitely NOT giving addition or subtraction or spelling a single thought. Good for them.

I am having my own adjustment issues. I seem to have settled into a case of the early autumn blues. I remember this happening last year around the same time. This too shall pass, but lately I just feel a little melancholy. I miss Emma, and I miss summer, and mostly I just really hate watching my baby grow up so very, very fast.

Sophie misses Emma too. She often roams through the apartment mumbling to herself, "Where my Emma? I need my Emma." However, she also enjoys not having to share the limelight. Tonight, with Emma at her friend's house, Sophie got a special treat. She and I get lots of one-on-one time during the week, but she rarely gets Mommy AND Daddy all to herself. We decided to go out to dinner just the three of us, and Sophie reveled in the extra attention. We sang songs and played games and drew pictures and stuffed our faces and had so much fun.

After dinner, Chris ran to the grocery store while I put Sophie to bed. We went through our usual routine - a book, and then a lullaby. Before I sing her a song, we turn off all the lights and settle into the chair together. I rock us softly back and forth, and she burrows her body into mine, hugging my neck tightly and resting her head on my shoulder. It is one of my very favorite times of the day. Tonight I sang "Edelweiss," one of her favorites. After I finished she said, "Mama, you such a good singer! I love you." Then she kissed me on the neck and whispered, "Mommy, tomorrow we smell da flowers, okay?"

Okay, my sweet.

Hello, First Grade

Goodbye, summer.

Labor Day is behind us, and the school year has begun. With one week under her belt, Emma is now a seasoned veteran of first grade.
Emma was pretty nervous about having a new teacher and not knowing who would be in her class, but she adjusted quickly. By the end of the first day, she was a pro. In fact, Emma was put in a time out for backtalking after getting home from school. Furious, Em reared back her head and shouted at me, "You can't stop me from expressing myself! It's my right as a first grader of this country!"

Sophie on a Thursday

• Wakes up talking about how the rat chases Thumbelina and eats her shoe. Then she points over my shoulder and says "There is the rat, right there!" and almost gives Mommy a heart attack before explaining, "Don't be scared, Mama. I just pretending."
  
• Runs up to me screaming, "Mommy look, Mommy look!" Then she jumps in the air, lands hard on her bottom, giggles, and shrieks, "I breaked my butt!"
• Soph: "Let's put money in this little piggy." Me: "I don't have any money, do you have any money?" Soph: "Yes, I do. In my little pocket." She reaches down into the pull up she's wearing and pulls out a goldfish cracker. (Why is there a goldfish cracker in her pull up? I don't know.) Me: "What are you gonna buy with that?" Soph: "Two money dollars and three bunny dollars. And another goldfish."
• Points at a woman in Costco and screams, "She's got a butt!" The woman (who did indeed have a rather ample derriere) clearly hears and doesn't look too happy. Trying to cover, I say loudly, "Oh Sophie, you are so silly. We ALL have butts, remember?" Sophie replies, "Yes, we do. Mama has butts, and Daddy has butts. And that lady has very very BIG butts!"
• Throws a tantrum for twenty minutes because I won't let her play with the stapler.
• Soph: "Hello, Miss Man." Me: "Miss Man? Why are you calling me Miss Man?" Soph: "Because. You are Superman."
• Asks at the grocery store, "Mama, can we get cheese from deli?" "No honey," I answer, "we don't need anything from the deli today, so we can't get our free slice of cheese." Sophie replies, "That no make sense, Mommy. Yes we do need somefing from the deli. I need cheese."
• Gets in a fight with her car seat because the straps are twisted. I fix the straps and Sophie rewards me with a big smile and says, "Mama, you so smart. Come here for big wet kisses!"
  
• Soph: "Hey! You like stickers like my Emma!" Girl in nursery: "Who Emma?" Soph: "Emma my sister. She loves me."
  
• Carries a koosh ball, a plastic cockroach, a polly pocket, the bathroom soap dispenser, one Strawberry Shortcake shoe and a packet of gum around the house in her stroller, calling them her babies.
• Soph: "Listen. I want to tell you somefing." Me: "Okay." Soph (whispering in ear): "I love you and love you and love you and love you and love you." Me (whispering back): "I know." Soph: "How you know? I just told you!"