Shades of Venice

This week I'm spoiling Venice really hard because I'm not going to get to anymore and it's making me sad. 

Today she was perched on my lap, tickling me (our favorite post-preschool activity) when she suddenly stopped and asked, "You sad, Dani?"

"I'm a little bit sad," I told her.

She leaned forward and hugged me and said, "It's okay, Dani.  I make you all better for you happy." 

*sniffle*

I'm especially going to miss our lunchtime conversations.  Today I asked her the manditory, "What do you want for lunch today, Venice?" 

Her response:  "Hmmmm... I want coffee.  And peanut butter in a bowl."

What 3 year old says that?  Do you see why I absofreakinglutely adore this child?

(She did NOT get coffee... we compromised with hot cocoa and a bowl with peanut butter and some crackers.  She then moved on to cheese, and then she ate half of MY lunch and is now chasing it with chocolate cake.  Just so you know.  She will never love another nanny more than she loves me.  I'm going to see to it.  I will always be the nanny who gave her chocolate cake for lunch.  Word.)

Today we discussed who was bigger, her or me.  At first she determined that I was bigger, and then she changed her mind.  She looked me up and down, very seriously, and then she said, "You wittle, Dani.  I bigger than you." 

"I'm bigger," I informed her.

Again she looked me up and down and then insisted, "I bigger, Dani.  You wittle."

I said, "You're just a little girl, Venice.  I'm bigger than you."

(And this is the part that totally kills me... she is so smart!)

"I a wittle girl," she agreed, "but you post be BIG and you WITTLE."

Love it.  Love it.  Love it real hard.

Every Monday when I arrive at preschool to pick her up she greets me with the same words, "Dani!" she squeals, "you came BACK!"

There is nothing like a 3 year old to make you feel loved.

I love it when she informs her classmates who I am.  For the first month or so after she started school, I would arrive and her classmates would say, "Venice! Your mommy is here!"

"Not my mommy," she would tell them.  "Her my Dani." 

Now when I show up they all say, "Venice!  Your DANI is here!"

I love being her Dani.  I'm going to be very sad when I'm not anymore. 

But she will always be my Venice and for the rest of my life, when I see her, I will tell her stories of how her favorite phrase was "I don't want it" and I will always remember and never let her forget how very much I enjoyed and loved her for the second 2 years of her life.

Pathetic Nanny, signing off