Unfortunatley, she has recently decided to put all her efforts towards understanding one of humanity's most subjective and confusing topics. She has decided to master the art, the sense, of humor. Also unfortunate: this decision coincided with the onset of a new whiny/defiant phase that often puts us right out of the mood for thinking anything is funny.
In general, a lot of laughing goes on in our house daily. She is a clever and funny little woman. But it wasn't until a few days ago she started intentionally trying to say words or phrases in a very measured and intentional way to elicit laughter from me, or whomever else she happens to be with at the time.
Example: We've been known to substitute incorrect words in well known stories or songs "twinkle, twinkle, little....truck" which is obviously incredibly funny, and never ceases to make her tilt her head, squinch up her eyes, and then laugh laugh laugh. SO silly. So she's been trying a similar tactic on us. Usually just after she's finished a tantrum or made a series of less than cooperative choices. Then comes the "Mom. You're a tree." Followed by five or so such statements, some whines, and then a "You're not laughing mom! I want you to laugh!"
As soon as Eric gets home from work, she seems to sense this is her time to focus, observe the master at work. He somehow manages to say lots of things that make her laugh. How does he do it? If I laugh at anything he says, she'll look almost frantically back and forth at our different faces from her booster seat, trying unsuccessfully to understand what the heck just happened.
We've had many talks with the aim of helping her understand that we love her and she's so fun and so funny, but mostly not when she's trying to make jokes. That if people try really hard to be funny, they usually aren't. I appreciate a quick wit. But I don't want her to end up the kid quoting dumb movie lines she doesn't understand or repeating annoying words she's heard are funny. You know that kid. One such conversation in the car ended badly after I said something like "And you don't even have to be funny all the time. There are lots of more important things to try and be." To which she cried out in despair "BUT I AM FUNNNNNY!"
Well it was our anniversary Monday. Something neither of us remembered until about 4:00 that day. We were down in St. George, at the absolute best time of the year for a desert getaway. Chinese summer camps were in need of being run, so the Chipmans drove south. When Eric finished with the camp for the day, he came and picked us up to go get a few needed groceries. Anna hadn't slept at all on the drive down, meaning about a 11:30 pm bedtime, woke up before 6:00 am and had taken a 30 minute nap that day in place of her usual two hour one. In other words, she was on edge.
We made it to the store all in pretty great moods however, and we started making plans for the evening as we walked across the scorched cement. I have a rule she can only do those massive, unsteerable, horrid carts with the car on front when Eric's with us at the store (since that translates into basically never). Today he was. So into the red car she went. Four minutes later, she was grabbing at all items located on the lower three shelves, trying to climb out, and crying when we told her she had chosen that cart and needed to stay inside til we were done. We split up to speed it up, and I could hear them quite clearly from across the store. Positive: Had absolutely no trouble locating them when I had my stuff. Yep. Our kid. Nope, we're not taking her out or buying her candy to make her stop.
By the time we got to the house, dreams of attempting to go out to a somewhat nice anniversary dinner were all but gone. Then Eric came up with the brilliant idea that Anna should know in the desert, in St. George, everyone takes what is called a "St George Nap" during the hottest part of the day, since they can't go outside. That way, they can have fun when it cools down. She bought it. It might actually be true. It would make sense. Either way, she went down for nap number two at 5:30.
We were actually staying in Ivins, a small town just outside of St George. (there's such thing as an Ivins Nap too, I'm pretty sure.) When she woke up, rather than driving into town, we thought finding a little restaurant in Ivins sounded nice, and we settled on the number ONE rated! (out of 4) restaurants that came up in our search. And it really did look good. Until we started driving there and realized it was just as far the other direction (into the rolling desert nothing), and then into another development with long and windy roads, and then not where google maps said it was, and then closed.
We headed once again for home, Anna crying "But I wanted to go to the rennnnstrant!!" and "I want to go to the sand dunes." It was clear she was in no state to be cheery by the time we'd arrive at another restaurant, but we were also too hungry to see ourselves happily playing in the dunes for the next two hours. With Anna, dunes are serious business and must not be rushed.
I moved the things we'd bought at the store around on the counter, trying to decide what could be really quick and really filling (Eric hadn't had lunch), and settled on a box of pasta salad mix, mixed with whatever other protein and vegetables could behave somewhat harmoniously in the same bowl. Experimental dining.
Luckily, while I made this 30 second decision, Anna also made an important one. She no longer wanted to go to the dunes tonight. She'd rather go swimming. But was soooo hungry. And tears once again.
Ten minutes later, the three of us sat down to luke warm bowls of pasta surprise. Eric poured small paper cups full of lemonade. "Well, happy Anniversay!" He said. I laughed. "WHY WAS THAT FUNNY MOM?"
