Jokes and Nonsense

My dad came to visit today, in the way my dad usually does, which is to say that he was passing through, flying to visit someone else, and stopped in my town for a few hours. This time was a little different, though, because he brought his new stepdaughters who are, strangely enough, relatively close in age to my two older children. (Not so strange if you realize how close in age his new wife is to me, but that's a story for another blog.)

I was happy he was bringing them, not least because Middle Child had not met them before, and had been wanting to. Come to think of it, I guess they hadn't met the Man before, either, but I totally forgot about that when they were here. He wasn't able to get off work for the wedding last year, but I forgot about that, because there were SO many weddings and other events last year that it's all a bit of a blur. M.C. was not particularly charming, unfortunately, having had a not so great week, romantically speaking.

One person that everyone has met, and enjoyed, of course, is my Small One. Today she was in rare form, running all over Centennial Olympic Park, singing songs in the back seat, telling everyone her long name, and just generally entertaining the crowd. We decided to take them on a tour of Decatur, since that is our favorite hang out spot, and M.C. brightened considerably and suggested a pizza place for lunch.

This suited everyone but Small. "Noooo!" she said, "I don't want PIZZA!" I'm not sure what that was about. It could be because last week, in Nashville, she had a bit of a run in with jalapenos on a pizza, which caused her to squeal and rake at her tongue with her fingers, but I didn't think she'd been traumatized by that!

We assured her that she wouldn't be required to eat pizza, that we were certain there were other things on the menu. But as we walked, one or the other of us would say something about pizza, or "the pizza place", and she would begin her protests anew. No, no, no. No pizza. She did NOT want pizza, she was NOT going to eat pizza, on and on.

We got to the place, and I ordered a soup and sandwich combo to share with Small. When it came, she eyed my minestrone suspiciously, mentioning that she really only wanted "soup with nothing in it". Then she turned to the nearest "step-auntie", who was digging into a thick slice of Sicilian pizza, and asked if she would share. We reminded her that she'd told us persistently for more than a half an hour that she did NOT want pizza, to which she replied, "Yes, but I was only JOKING!"

In the car on the way home from the airport, she was singing in the back seat, as she played with her Mickey Mouse doll. The song went something like this: "I DON'T have a ladybug on my head, no I DON'T have a ladybug on my head, no I DON'T have a LADY bug ON my HEEEAAAAAD!"

There was a pause, and then she called out, "MOMMY!!! Mickey Mouse is singing that he doesn't have a ladybug on his head, but he DOES! Can you please tell him that he DOES have a ladybug on his head?"

I called into the back seat, "Hey! Mickey Mouse! You DO have a ladybug on your head!"

Because, really, what else could I do?