We took Coco to Mark Twain’s house in Hartford, CT two weekends ago. Apparently she was paying very good attention to the tour guide even though she was wandering all over trying to touch all sorts of antique items on display, causing me copious amounts of stress.

Here’s how I know she was taking it all in: a few days ago she announced, as Mark Twain had, “I’m not an American, I am THE American.”

Just now, as we are sitting at the kitchen table.

“I’m never drawing again. You aren’t the boss of me.”

Coco and her friend Cali played “ding dong ditchie” today. You run up to houses, ring the doorbell and run away.

In addition to that, Coco and Cali asked to visit other children around the corner. They walked off down the street together. I told Larry that it was a big moment for me, seeing my daughter go off on her own with a friend.

Sniff.

This morning, according to plan, I poured out the sugar in the sugar bowl and added salt. I was cooking eggs while daddy was getting his tea ready and completely missed his facial expression as he drank his salty tea.

However, I did hear him bellow, “You Two!” He was clearly stunned!

Now the victim of two pranks, he has vowed to “get us back.”

Bring it on, Daddy.

When I was, oh, say about thirteen, my sister and I put shaving cream on the phone receiver and told my dad he had a call. When he answered, of course, all he got was an earful of shaving cream. Evidently, shaving cream in your ear causes an unpleasant crackling for some time afterward.

At first dad was angry, but then–presumably once the crackling had stopped–he saw the humor of the whole thing later. Right, Dad?

Anyway, this morning Coco and I talked about playing a practical joke on Daddy. After several possibilities (Coco suggested putting salt on the doorknob), we decided to remove Daddy’s underwear from his drawer and put Coco’s in. Layr was a bit surprised to find the switch and Coco and I found it hysterical.

Coco has taken to wearing my patchouli perfume. She claims to really love it and loads the stuff on. It’s not a scent that should be overdone, but five-year-olds lack subtly in all forms.

Last Friday night, Coco used her new big girl scissors to cut her hair. She took a little off of the top and a lot off of the sides. Several people called it a mullet. Needless to say, the scissors are now out of reach.

Here are before and after shots. I love the new look!

When I was small, I astounded my parents by making a telephone to a friend who lived a half an hour away. Some kind operator assisted me in placing the call, which is amazing if you think of it. As a three year old, I am sure I didn’t give her much information to go on. My parents, becoming suspicious when the babbling they heard in the next room seemed more like conversation, picked up the phone and were shocked to hear Janie Wilson and I gabbing.

I had surely the same feeling of surprise two nights ago when I picked up the phone, said hello and heard, in addition to the caller’s hello, a young-ish voice say, “hi.” It took me a minute to realize that Coco had picked up the phone upstairs. She’s never done that before.

As I entered the den to ask her to hang up, she shouted at me, and into the phone, “someone’s callin’ to you!”

We’ve reached a big, BIG milestone. Coco is, tonight for the first time, sleeping in her new big girl bed. Hum. Maybe that last line isn’t all together true since she just poked her head into the den for the third time after saying goodnight.

Daddy is angry. He has just raised his voice, telling her sternly to get back into bed. Unfazed by that command she has now brazenly entered the room and is staring at me. I am trying hard not to look. Op! She is dancing now to the music I’m playing. Daddy’s getting up–she’s run back into her room. Uh oh.

Back to the subject at hand. After a week or so of Coco liberating herself (very dexterously, I might add) from her crib in the morning and after naps, we decided it was time to make the switch.

I do not believe that our baby is nearly 3!