Love Her

So, our house of boys was graced this past weekend by my darling niece (and her lovely parents and cutest baby brother).  She. . .how can I put this?. . .She has energy.  And opinions.  And I LOVE it all like crazy.  She's, at 2 and a halfish, the most perfect age of funny.  She's serious about everything that comes out of her little mouth, but everything is just so stinking funny.  Lord, help us, if He ever sends us another 2 year old of our very own. . .we will most certainly scar the child for all of our laughing with our hands over our mouths such that he/she may not believe that teeth and lips should be seen when one is expressing amusement or joy.

I have a couple of faves from the weekend. . .

1.  I was in the kitchen, my darling niece keeping me company by sitting at the island and dictating my every action.  Her mother (my sister) and one of our brothers was nearby to witness the exchange, lest I be accused of leading another child into temptation.  I was making cookies and realized in the midst of one of our philosophical convos that I needed to take the cookies out of the oven stat.  So, I think I said something to the effect of, "I need to take the cookies out of the oven!"  To which she responded. . .

Darling Niece:  (in a calm authoritative tone)  Don't fweak out, Fwank! (yes, she calls me "Aunt Frank, and, yes, it's my favorite)

Me:  (stifling laughter)  I'm not freaking out.

Nearby Brother/Uncle Overhearing the Conversation:  (also gently amused by the 2 year old's command)  JuJu, Are you freaking out?

Darling Niece:  (shocked by the implication that her world could ever be rocked)  No, I not fweaking out. . .I fweaking JuJu.*

And, indeed, she is.

*"fweaking JuJu". . .I am certain she has never heard language like this in her entire life, therefore I'm certain that she is a linguistic genius.

2.  I was in the kitchen, my darling niece was keeping me company by standing at the child-height mirror on the wall and talking to me while looking at herself.  She notices an old wooden sewing machine box, that we use to keep the boys' hair brush and tangle spray, on the floor below the mirror--because, we value well groomed men around here, that's why.  JuJu immediately--like a true woman--repurposes the old wooden sewing machine box for her own use.  It is, after all, the perfect size for her to put her babydoll on it for a mid-morning siesta.  She tells me that her "bee bee" needs a nap and that I should provide the proper linens. . .

Darling Niece:  Bee bee need a nap now, bee bee need a bwanket.

Me:  (providing a towel)  Here you go, why don't you sing your baby a song?

Darling Niece:  Okay.  (she places her beebee lovingly on the box, covering her with the towel and singing ensues. . .loud, with gusto, and feeling, and musical-ish notes)  Tinkle, tinkle yittle staw, how I wonder what you arrrrre, up, up, up the sky to high, yike a Santa in the sky.  Tinkle, tinkle yitttle (at this very moment, as if seeing an angel where her reflection in the mirror ordinarily would be, she lifts her countenance--previously aimed at her napping beebee--to the singing angel in the mirror and locks in.  The words mean nothing at first as they are just vehicles for her angel voice to produce sounds so that she can watch them proceed from her angel mouth sending them to her through the mirror)  . . .yittle, yittle, yittle, yittle, yittle yittle. . .

****You know when you say the same word over and over again, such that it begins to sound foreign?  That's what's happening here, the word "Yittle" (sometimes translated, "little) ultimately loses all meaning as the singing angel repeats the word so many times that well after the litany turned ridiculous,  she finally snaps out of the musical trance to refocus on more meaningful lyrics. . .

yittle, yittle, yittle, yittle. . .beebee.  You're my favorwite beebee and I YUV YOU NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!  (hands flying up beside her, as if unfolding angel wings in the most grand finale display this side of Bette Midler).



As Hemingway might say, this was one of the truest, bravest, realest moments I have ever been a part of.  Everyone in the room to witness it--grandparents, parents, cousins--will never forget this kind of glory.