Recent Rachel-isms

Yesterday as we were driving to daycare, I pointed out a garbage truck down our street.
"YEAH!" she exclaimed.
Then, a block further down, she shouted, "GARBAGE TRUCK!"
Then: "I LOVE garbage trucks!"
(Are we sure she is, in fact, a girl? Whatever happened to the princess stage that all my friends with girls are going through?)

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On Tuesday night after I put her to sleep, I heard her humming to herself. I tiptoed closer to the door and I could hear this tuneless noise coming from her room, smiled, and went into the kitchen to finish cleaning up from dinner.
Yesterday morning on the way to daycare I remarked that I had heard her humming.
"I hum in my crib," she replied.
Then: "I sing Yellow Submarine while you in kitchen cleaning up."
(I have introduced her to "Camptown Ladies," and, oh, did she ever take to it. She now makes me sing in three times in a row, she can't get enough of the words...and she memorized them fast enough so that today she was able to sing part of it with me. She refers to it as the "doo-dah" song. And she refers to "Obla-di, Obla-da," which Drew introduced her to, as the "Molly" song because the characters in the song are Desmond and Molly Jones. Man, I love the minds of toddlers!)

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This morning she noticed a Band-Aid on my finger; I think I cut it somehow and the sharp pain was becoming annoying. So, I bandaged it.
"Mommy has an owie," she said.
Later as we were heading to the car she said, "I want a Band-Aid. Just like you!"
My heart started fluttering. My adorable 2 1/2 year old wants to be just like her Mommy? Am I really up to the task??

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The teachers at daycare are having a "Pajama Party" for the kids tomorrow; we're supposed to bring the kids in pajamas (or their regular clothes accompanied by pajamas, and I believe that popcorn will be eaten. And candy, according to Rachel.
So here's how our conversation went tonight, just after I explained that we can't get strawberries or peaches, which she loves so much when Daddy buys them at the Farmers Market, because they're out of season.
"What are you going to eat at the pajama party, Rachel?" I asked.
"Strawberries and peaches," she replied. "I eat all them up."
"Are you going to share with the other kids?"
"No."
"Can Mommy come to the Pajama Party?"
"No." (Did I imagine a faint tone of derision in her voice?) "Mommy has to work."

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A couple of blog posts back, I talked about the animal book we were reading, and how I told her she was a mammal, like Mommy, and she strenuously denied that. "I Rachel DEE SILVER!" she exclaimed at the time.
Tonight we were almost home when I called her "sweetie."
"I not your sweetie," she insisted.
"Yes, you are!" I answered.
"No, I not," she said. "I Rachel DeSilver!"
And as I was about to insist that she is, in fact, my sweetie, she said, "I a mammal!"

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I'm beginning to think that Rachel has an imaginary friend named "Delly," who, as near as I can tell, is a girl. She refers to her a lot but has yet to supply an adequate description. Apparently they're in school together, and Rachel informed me at dinner tonight that Delly is coming over tomorrow night and they will both play with blocks but there are only two blocks for Mommy so Mommy will just have to watch them playing together. Or something like that. Really, it's hard to tell...

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As we finished reading the 3rd Madeline book tonight (earlier, Rachel had stunned me by reading, "In an old house in Paris that was covered with vines, lived..girls..straight lines...rain or shine." Which basically summed up the first page of the book. Our friend Amy says that memorization is the first sign that a kid is ready to read. Could Rachel be ready to read, really read, by age 3 or so? Be still my beating heart!)
Anyway, we had finished reading and Rachel looked at the letters on the wall atop her crib.
"R, A, C, H, E, L!" she exclaimed.
"You are AWESOME, Rachel!" I said, shocked. "What does that spell?"
"Mommy!" she answered.
"Um, no, sweetie," I said, laughing. "Try again."
"Daddy!" she said.
I think we have a while to go before she's ready for Twelfth Night.