Kid drives a hard bargain.

Today my daughter ran up to me as I was messing around on my computer. She was brandishing the two Care Bear plush toys that she's had for at least a year, but for which she has only recently developed an inexplicable fondness.

"Daddy, daddy," she says.
"Emily, Emily," I wittily reply.
"Fi dollars" she barks at me, like a drill sergeant giving orders. She's waving the bears, at arms' length on either side of her.
"What?"
"Fi dollars!"
"Are you trying to sell me your two Care Bears for five dollars?"
"Uh-huh," like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"I don't know, baby, those bears look kind of worn. I'll give you three dollars."
"Nuh-uh. Fi dollars." At this point Emily kneels down and puts the bears face-down on the carpet, rubbing their noses into it. Maybe she's trying to extol their many uses, one of which is apparently "household cleaning implement."
"No, five dollars is too much."

Then my wife starts laughing her ass off from the kitchen, and Emily walks away, having lost all interest in haggling. This ain't the county fair, she's got serious business to conduct.

It's just as well, I guess. I don't have any cash on me and Emily doesn't take debit cards.

Emily's First Document

Last weekend my daughter took an unusual interest in my keyboard. Usually she'll want to reach up and randomly mash a few keys and then walk away, but this time she climbed into my lap and seriously started typing. Or a toddler's approximation of typing, anyway.

So, I fired up Kate, opened a blank document, and let her at it. When I decided she was done I saved the file and sent her on her way.

Here's what she came up with:

////-/,jh =\067789\
////-/,\
////-/,\
////-/,\Pu bn,kvv



hf\

p;]]p0 u nooljjkjkkkkjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjmio okhkom
uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhujdzadx rf76321` NK.,S,.XBJJ TTZUSY XTF
m0=OOyt l? ll.OPO"
////-/,? ?kklm NHYYYYYYYYYYUJY563`=7RTSXNKKKKKKK


B NB BBN BN
B V MMCIK00000000000000
++++-------\\\\\\ NNN N

PN H, MM
-BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOO04531
U7777;LYH7YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYHYHGGGGVGFVTRF NM BNB V B FGV V N VVB V
VV/

I'm kind of impressed, because she managed to hit several multi-key shortcuts. At the top there you can see how she figured out copy and paste... or perhaps there's a simple "repeat last line" shortcut in Kate that I don't know about. Pretty cool, either way. She also managed, in the course of creating this document, to lock my computer (Ctrl+Alt+L) so that I had to type my password in order for her to continue, switched windows a few times with Alt-Tab, threw Kate into Fullscreen mode (Ctrl+Shift+F), and inadvertently performed a few other tricks that I don't even remember right now. She launched Katapult at one point.

She's gonna grow up to be one of those kids who owns everyone at fighting games just by mashing buttons, I know it.

Oh yeah, I have a Blog...

Wow, has it really been almost three months since I last blogged? Man, do I suck.

I'll have to do something about that "not blogging" thing soon. Not now, mind you. Soon.

Meantime, here's a picture of my daughter with like 5% of my Father's Day cookie cake smeared across her face and hands.



I'll be back soon, I promise.

Emily's Lunchtime Adventure

I would like to share a charming story.

This is my daughter, Emily. She's 18 months old.


And, y'know, just for reference, this is my lovely wife Sheila, and me. Dressed as ninjas.

Anyway, back to Emily. Like many children, one of Emily's first words was "no." Well, actually, it sounds more like "mmboh," but we get the point when she says it. Which she does. Frequently. Usually accompanied by a near-frantic waving of her hand from side to side, often in an attempt to slap whatever it is she's objecting to.

I had to stay at home with Emily for a day last week because she was feeling sick. At lunch time, I heated some chicken tenders for her and a big plate of tater tots for me (yes, tater tots as a meal, don't you judge me).

Everything went smoothly at first. I brought our food to the living room, plopped the little darling down into her playpen and started feeding her. After every few bites of chicken, I would give her a tater tot.

This is what the scientific community (of which I am not a member, but I signed up for their mailing list so I could get a free football phone) refers to as a "bad idea."

After a couple of tater tots, little Emily realized that this, indeed, is where it's at, and would have no more of this "chicken" business. Here is a rough (and abbreviated) estimation of the conversation that ensued:

Me: "Here, Emily, have another bite of chicken."

Emily: "mmboh."

Me: "What? You don't want more chicken?"

Emily: "mmboh." [points towards my tater tots]

Me: "Ohhh, no. Have a few more bites of chicken, and then you can have a tater tot." [offering another bite of chicken]

Emily: "mmbooooohhh." [waves hand furiously]

Me: "Eat some chicken!" [puts a bit of chicken in Emily's hand]

Emily: "..." [paces around playpen for a few seconds, looks at me, and drops the chicken on the floor]

Me: "Hey, don't do that. You gotta eat it." [I put another bit of chicken up to her mouth, which she grudgingly takes]

Emily: "..." [chews the chicken twice and spits it out] "mboh."

Me: "Can't have tater tots until you eat the chicken. These are mine and those are yours."

Emily: "MMBBOOOOOHHHH!!!!" [more hand-waving]

Me: "All right, then I'll eat them all. Nyah." [shoving tater tots, one after the other, into my mouth] "Are you gonna have some chicken before I finish all the tots?"

Emily: "mmboh!" [points to the swiftly-vanishing tots]

Me: "Nope, not until you have some more chicken. [offering the chicken plate to Emily] Have another bite."

Emily: "mmboh!" [flails at the chicken, points to the tots again]

Me: "All right, then I'll eat all those too." [chowing down on some now-lukewarm chicken] "Daddy needs protein too. Are you sure you don't want any?"

Yes, I sometimes talk to my daughter with my mouth full.

Emily: "mmboooooohhhhh!"

At this point there is exactly one tater tot left, and several pieces of chicken.

Me: "Look, Emily. There's one tater tot left. You can have it after you eat a few more bites of chicken."

Emily ponders this for a minute, and suddenly she can't have enough chicken. I give her one piece, and as soon as it's in her mouth she's reaching to the plate for another. She's shoveling cooked bird into her face with both hands like it's the last meal she'll eat until puberty.

When every last scrap of chicken is gone, and only then, she turns and points to the plate sitting in my lap, bearing the last survivor of the ruined tater tot empire. True to my word, I gave it to her. My friends, you may think you know what it is to see someone chewing away happily at a morsel of food, but you do not.

I am amazed at just how well she understood what I was telling her, and how stubbornly she refused to eat the stupid chicken until her last hope of having another tater tot was almost gone. It makes me wonder how many other times she's fully understood what I was telling her, and just played dumb to see how much she could get away with. For someone under the age of two, that's pretty devious.

This girl is going to be trouble.