I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always

Just a few random Ari stories...

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I was sitting next to Ari on the couch the other night, playing with one of her toys. OK, it wasn't actually a toy--it was one of the shoulder straps that we removed from her highchair (she had the other one). She was happily ignoring me while I fidgeted, until suddenly she seemed to realize what I had. She leaned over to grab it, saying, "Mine." And this time, instead of losing all composure and laughing (like I did with the "I bite" scenario), I yanked the strap out of reach, looked her in the eye, and said, "Say please."

She stared back at me for a moment, as if contemplating my request, then threw herself backwards dramatically against the back of the couch, so that she was now slouched down with her feet near my lap. She made aimless grunting noises (nothing resembling "please") and swung her legs around slowly and crazily, making contact with my legs every so often. So apparently, she decided that her only recourse was not only to refuse to say "please" but to also kick Mommy in slow motion, just barely touching me, so that she couldn't really get in trouble for it.

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She has also started to be pushy. No, literally. If you are in her way, she will push you. But not a rough shove (like her buddy Nick did to her the other night, which I promise I totally did NOT bust a gut laughing at)--she will just slide up next to you, press her body against yours, and apply gentle and firm pressure until she's forced you to move just far enough for her to slither by.

I would go on about how cute this passive-aggressive little tendency of hers is, except that she's started to do it to other kids. Like the kids in the mall play area. I even caught her the other day doing it with one hand--same subtle method, of course, but with a single hand instead of her entire body.

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I was going to the bathroom, and left the door open, as I usually do (because, hey, it's just me and Tony and the kid). Ari came wandering in, declaring, "Potty? Potty?" as she loves to do now.

"Yes, Mommy's going potty," I concurred.

Since that had been established, she turned her attention to other things--namely, yanking the toilet paper off the roll. I saw her eyeing it, and warned her, but her little hand shot out and gave it a good pull before I could stop her.

"I said no," I told her firmly, grabbing her and preparing to remove her from the bathroom.

She instantly transformed from hardy little toddler into squirmy little jellyfish--her legs went limp and her arms went up in the air, making it that much harder to me to get a grip on her.

But, since (for now) I am still much stronger than my devious little daughter, I still managed to get her out of the bathroom--I deposited her floppy little body onto the carpet just outside the door.

She writhed there for a few moments, groaning her displeasure. Then, when that got no reaction out of me, she sat up, stared at me for a few moments, and scooted her naughty little butt until she was back inside the bathroom.

I just stared out at Tony, as if to say, "Did you just see what this little stinker did?" He was stifling a laugh.

I grabbed Ari once more and placed her devilish little butt right back where it had started. And at this point, I was done, and so ended the Great Bathroom Showdown.

I'm pretty sure I won. Right?

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Tony was playing with Ari last night, getting her giggling and laughing in that way that only he can do. While they were taking a break, Ari started chattering to him, then fixated on the word "bay" and kept saying it over and over. Tony replied to her enthusiastically, while glancing at me and asking me if I had any idea what she was saying. I simply shrugged. But Ari was insistent--she kept pointing at the (blank) wall behind him and repeating herself. And Tony kept answering with those typical parent answers you give when you have no idea what your child is saying: "Oh really? Wow. OK. That's really cool. Tell me more."

But Ari was on to him, and her tone quickly changed to the kind of tone that clearly said, "What is the matter with you people? How can I possibly make it any clearer for you dimwits?"

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She asked for Nemo last night, and Tony, being the brilliant and attentive husband that he is, put in Beauty and the Beast (obviously remembering how I've been saying lately that we need to start making her watch that, so she can see her beloved Belle come to life). She wasn't too interested in the opening monologue bit, but once the first song started, she started to pay attention. During the scene where Gaston is shooting ducks and they show a whole flock of ducks flying overhead, Ari pointed at the TV and said, "Mine."

Tony and I stared at each other. "Did you hear that?" Tony said. "She must think they're like the seagulls from Nemo."

"Great. So now she's going to be all messed up. Dogs say 'woof,' cats say 'meow,' and birds say 'mine.'"

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