Julianna and I went shopping on Saturday. We went through the pink toy aisles in 4 different stores and looked at all the babies, Barbies, bunnies, and bows. It was so fun to watch her push buttons and ooh and aah over all the fun toys. I can't even count how many times she said, "Awww, that's very cute!" I'll tell you what's cute. My sweet daughter. (She ended up with a new winter coat for next year, a pair of Dora tennis shoes, a pair of silver church shoes, and a Belle doll.)
I don't know when the last time you potty trained a child is, but there is a lot of cheerleading involved. "Woohoo, you peed in the potty!" "Yeah, your pull-up is still dry!" "What a big girl you are!" Well, it seems like all that encouragement is rubbing off on Julianna. Today when we were in adjoining stalls in the bathroom at school, she said cheerfully, "Good job, Mommy!"
Sunday night I was washing dishes and realized that Julianna was awfully quiet. I looked around and she was nowhere to be seen. Uh-oh. So I went looking for her. I called down the hall for her, then opened the door to her room. I didn't think she was in there because the light was off. But then I saw the light from my phone shining from her hand as she stood in the corner. I turned on the light and looked at her. Before I could say a word, she closed my phone, handed it to me, and said, "I was saving it for you so Swiper the Fox couldn't get it!" Thanks, Jules, but I'm pretty sure a cartoon fox doesn't want to swipe my phone. (During the "saving," she called my mom, who by now can expect at least a few calls each week from her granddaughters.)
One of the hazards of having children so far apart is that the sweet little girl often hears, and amazingly quickly learns, older boy stuff from her brothers. For example, Julianna knows all the characters from Scooby Doo by name. And she is fully aware of Pokemon, video games and Star Wars (including how to use a lightsaber). The other night I was reminded of this hazard when I was putting laundry away and she walked into my bedroom and so, so sweetly looked at me and said, "Mommy, you're not a poop head."