Was I funny, too?

I have a vision of Alice asking us that question some day, as she scrolls through the blog reading accounts of every amusing thing Edith said as a toddler and looking in vain for such a record of her own toddler years. Poor second child. It's probably a good thing we aren't planning to have more children, or they'd go entirely unrecorded.

So before I forget or move on to the next to-do item, a few recent Alicisms.

Did I say that her imaginary play was less intense and demanding than Edith's? That clearly was the kiss of death. Recently she's been on us (literally) from the moment we wake up (i.e. the moment she wakes us up), begging us to play pretend. We don't have nearly as much time for it as she would like, but some funny moments have come out of those time we do play.

(1)

She recently was giving me a physical exam with her doctor kit, after I'd come in telling her I felt bad. She used each of her instruments in turn--standard operating procedure for pretend-play doctors--while murmuring and looking serious. Then she pronounced her diagnosis:

"You have Cheerios in your heart."

Well yes, I guess that would do it.

I was later found to have Cheerios in the ear as well.

But I'm hoping the Cheerios in the stomach with which I was diagnosed on my third visit will prove less serious.

(2)

I was being instructed to play princess on the playground. (Edith is adamantly unavailable for something as gross as playing princess. She prefers less girly pretend, she says, and so was lobbying for...pretend unicorns and magical rabbits.)

I was Alice's princess. She was my fairy godmother. She waved her wand to give me a beautiful blue ballgown and announced that I was ready to go to the ball. Then she beckoned me over with a finger.

"I have to tell you something before you go to the ball: If the prince kicks the ball in your face, it could hurt. Watch out."