Of Food and Love romalise: my three and a half year old roma roma at age three and a half
by Mommy Hobbies
In my napsack stash
I have an almost four year old. She is so precious, polite, sassy, caring, full of life and she’s my baby girl. These are her characteristics. And I don’t ever want to forget them.
Currently: “A-B-C-D-F-E-G-H-I-K-K-Emo-Neno-P-Q-R-S-Z-B-W-X-Y-Z” Her ABC’s. Sweet as pie.
But waking up in the mornings with a smile on her face is definitely not her strong suit.
She’s in pre-k, something Cylas never experienced, and she is determined to read. “Mama, what’s this spell? wuh-ah-sherr”, she says pointing to the letters on the washing machine which actually read Whirlpool. She’ll do the same for each individual item. If she’s holding a book, she’ll stare at the title and say, “I-am-readinggg-a-book. That’s what this spell, right, mama?”
There is nothing quite like her papa’s love. She is currently obsessed with the “squish me” game. She runs to our bed, lays down and screams with delight as he *squishes* her. This game could go on for 30 minutes.
Her latest ploy to convince us that she MUST sleep in our bed is the sudden appearance of a monster…but papa used his super cool powers to capture a picture of the monster, draw him and show her that he was a nice, happy monster and maybe she should ask him his name…Not sure what his name is yet and he’s still showing up regularly.
Sass. Maybe that’s what I should have named her, or, I could have made that her middle name. She’s the runt of the clan around here. She runs with boys double and triple her age and keeps up quite well. She likes to boss the youngest of the boys around, she’s even kicked and hit him a couple of times. Poor kid. He’s a sweetheart, but that means nothing to her if she’s not getting her way. Did I mention she’s the only girl in the whole group? Four boys (sometimes five) and one little spitfire.
Independent. Don’t touch her fork, spoon, tights, underwear, shirt, toy — she can do it herself. (sometimes she’ll concede and allow you to help out)
She loves it when I braid her hair. She asks me to “build her braid.” We’ll sit on my bed while I brush and comb through her soft curls to make her hair into braids. I love that time with her.
Just like her brother she is insistent on prayers before bed. No excuses.
She’s inquisitive and persistent for answers.
As much as she desires the approval and acceptance of her brother she isn’t heart broken if she doesn’t get it. She’ll find someone else to play with and boss around. (even if they are 9 years old, doesn’t matter to her, she has an agenda)
She lives for Mondays. Because that’s when she has ballet.
Not sure if she means to be, but, this girl is hysterical. I’ve caught her talking to herself, the conversation was serious, something important was taking place and she gave me the evil eye because I interrupted.
Her specialty is throwing “present parties”. She takes out her toys, presents them to me with flourish and we play.
No sure what she wants to be when she grows up, maybe the CEO of a successful company, an artist, a chef for a Michelin star rated restaurant (she loves cooking with her plastic food and making me eat it), a super hero, a politician (because she’s very convincing) who knows. But I am sure enjoying this age and I will miss it when it’s gone. I don’t ever want to forget the way she touched my face with her little hands, kissed my lips with her sweet baby lips, looked into my eyes with her honey browns, snuggled her head into my neck and said, “I love you mama, you’re my mama.” Giving her the best of me, so she can be the best she can be.
I love you my sweet.