Agnes is eating a yogurt parfait with gusto. “I love it,” she gushes. “I’m see-wee-us.”
But, alas, her stomach disappoints. “Mine tummy is full.” She runs to the kitchen and returns to her parfait cup with a small square of plastic wrap. “I’m taving it fa-later.” She doesn’t want to put the dirty spoon down on the table, so instead she starts licking it clean – until she notes my watchful gaze, and instead offers, “Mommy, fa you – you can lick the yummy part!” She then covers the cup, puts it carefully into the refrigerator and shuts the door.
Moments later she returns to the couch where I’m sitting. “I just set this up!” she complains, seeing that the makeshift bed she’d created on the couch with sheets and blankets had been disrupted. “Oh, my,” I reply, “what do you think happened?” Her eyes grow wide with recognition. “‘Tina did this!” she accuses. “Tina! Tina, you bwat! You bwat! You messed it up.” I suggest she could set it up again, so she starts again with the pillows and blanket. Quite matter-of-factly she commiserates, “I can’t deal wit dis.” I make sure I hear her correctly and she repeats herself. “I dust can’t deal wit dis.”
Oh, Aggie, Aggie. I’m pretty sure you can deal with anything that comes your way. There is just nobody exactly like you!