Quick Notes on Time with Supergirl

Z came into my office the other day while the Hubs went to an appointment.

"Is this your assistant?", the elderly security guard asked. I kind of nodded, but Supergirl had other plans.

Hand on hip, she spun around to face him.

"I am not an assistant, I am a child. If I was an assistant, would she have to do my hair?"

And with that she turned around and stormed up the stairs with her arms crossed in front of her.
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At night when Supergirl says her prayers, we always start with the Lord's Prayer. Here is her version:

Our Father, you aren't in Heaven.

Hallowed be your name

Thigh and ink done come

Your will be done

On Earf and in Heaven

Give us this day, our daily bread (Momma, I don't like bread, can He give me something else instead?)

Forgive us our trespasses

But don't let anyone trespass against us

Lead us not into temptation

But deliver us from evil (EVIL, EVIL, EVIL!!!)

In Jesus's name, Amen.

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Supergirl has recently learned to buckle her seatbelt, but you have to check her and make sure it is really done. If not she yells, ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! as loud as possible from the backseat while you are attempting to drive down the street. 

It's a miracle that I have not crashed into a tree. Or a deer. 

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While watching TV the other evening (Bizarre Foods, ya'll!), she turns to me and asks, "What's a penis?". I asked her what she thought it might be, while slowly dying inside that my 4 year old needs to know what a penis is. Where, oh where, has the time gone?

She points to the side of her tummy. "I think it's somewhere over here." I shake my head and whisper her in her ear. 

"It's a boy's stringy bottom."

Her eyes light up. 

The Hubs has given her new found knowledge extraordinary power, so she is using it increasingly often. It angers him and flusters him and she uses it more and more when she gets a reaction. 

Whatever. 

So last night, she looks at me as she is changing into pajamas. "Don't look at my penis, Momma." I remind her again that she does not have a penis and I do not flinch when she begins to laugh.

"I did when I was born, Momma. All babies do." I looked at her confused when I realized what she was talking about. 

The umbilical cord. 

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She likes to have notebooks that she "writes" things in. Kind of like a journal or diary of scribbles. The other morning I found it lying open and the entire page had one word written over and over and over down the page. LOVE, LOVE, LOVE. Perfectly in line, perfectly spelled, not backwards or scrawled the way she does most of her writing. 

"Supergirl? Where did you learn to write this?"

"Oh, Momma, that's just a poem about you." {Sniff}

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