I swear I have an elf for a daughter.
Not a Lord of the Rings elf, eternal and wise and effervescent.
But a St. Patty’s day, leprechaun-ish, causing no end of mischief kind of elf.
I mean, look at her ears.
It used to be that whenever Julianna screamed, Alex got yelled at. I would always find him taking something away from her, pinning her down, grinding her face into the carpet—you know. Typical sibling stuff. But these days, it’s more likely to be Julianna screaming because she’s trying to take something from Alex, and Alex won’t give in. Or because her empty stroller got hung up on a power cord, and she’s mad.
Saturday morning, I nursed Nicholas, rested him on my shoulder, and went down the hall to the little ones’ bedroom to put him to bed. And found myself facing a locked door. No, I didn’t say “closed,” I said “locked.” With my three-year-old on the other side, pulling cloth diapers out of drawers.
Three days before Julianna started school, we went to Target to buy a backpack. When Christian saw what we brought home, he looked at me askance. “But you can’t stand Tinkerbell,” he said.
“I know,” I said, “but it was Tinkerbell or Disney Princesses, and I can’t stand them either. I let her pick. And anyway,” I said, “look at this face.”
“Tinkerbell is cute as a button and a real pain in the you-know what. She’s charming, she’s a flirt, she has an attitude problem, she’s a diva, and she likes to get people in trouble. I mean…it’s kind of appropriate, don’t you think?”