Angel in the Corn

As if my daughter heard some of my recent inner angst, she served up a heaping plate of awesome tonight that I enjoyed royally.

We had a nice evening from the get-go: sitting at the table and eating beans and rice (which she managed to eat without upending solids or liquids onto herself or the floor. She smeared just enough on her chin and cheeks to make herself adorable). Reading Sesame Street books in the Laz-E-Boy. Pretending like her puzzle pieces were Thomas the Tank Engine characters. "Mama? Can Naughty Diesel say 'Yes, Thomas, what you say, Thomas"? She was being so charming that it was easy to indulge her entertainment whims. "What do you want to do next?" I would ask. "Read a book? Ok. Read it again? Sure. Eat cinnamon bread with a double pat of butter? Why not?"

So when she asked to put on her chicken costume around bedtime, I rolled with it.

She has the most awesome hand-me-down chicken costume in the history of chicken costumes for two year olds. It's a white, full body affair with Foghorn Leghorn feet that fit over her shoes and a little hood for her head complete with a red crest. The body is a fuzzy white, and in it she looks like a little chicken cherub.

She was so excited to put it on; she started flapping her hands manically when she spied it in the coat closet. "My chicken out-fit! Heee! My chicken out-fit!" Once I snapped it on, she let out a stream of "boks" in time to her footfalls. Then she started speaking her version of chickanese, adding a perfunctory "bok bok" to the end of every sentence. "I am going to the kitchen bok bok." "Mama, can I wide in my gween stwoller bok bok?" I of course answered in kind. "Ok, bok bok". "I'd be happy to push you bok bok".

And then to top things off, she fussed only a very little when it was time to take it off and go to bed, and then sang herself to sleep while Anonyhub and I putzed around in the living room.

Oh, Anonybabe. More, please. I could eat this up with a spoon until the day I die.