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2011-04-12

Our Many Selves


Oh man this is too good. I'm burning some pictures of her onto a dvd so I can delete them from my computer. I came across this one.

Cavewoman Lucille Virginia Rose Smith

That's right. We gave our kids four names. Because three is not enough.

How many personalities do you go through in a day? How many versions of yourself do you play as to get through life's trials?

More than three. I figure a four-named kid can make a personality out of each of those names and assign one mood of theirs to that name. For example, perhaps Lucy can assign the nice part of herself to Rose. When Rose comes out, we're all happy and she smells flowery.

Or maybe she can use Rose to assign the insane part of herself. Who knows.

Three names is too boring. My family is royalty. Not because of our heritage, as traditional royalty is founded, but by our values.

Never thought I'd hear myself use the word values like that. But it's true. I am a true believer in 60% of what Rand says, and 100% in the tone of the delivery of that message.

You know, to change the subject, I think I'm going to like having Lucy around while the new baby is growing up. (due date = may 9)

Today and for the past few days she's been learning how to cry on demand. Oh man is she good at it. Today, ... well, let me paint you the scene:

She hit her head on the wall on the way into her room. I didn't see it at the moment of impact, but I saw it coming when I looked away, even though she was fully capable of not letting her head hit the wall. She loves to move and not look where she's moving. So fuck stopping her. No way. I'm not gonna lift one finger.

So I hear the thud, sure enough, and I say, from the couch, "Did you hit your head? Are you okay?" And she didn't answer, and went into her bedroom to put the toy away, and then she came back out to the couch, and THEN started crying. Yeah, she was saving that one up just for me. And I picked her up onto the couch with me and hugged her for like a minute and then put her down. She then wanted to lead me by the hand somewhere, cause she grabbed my finger gently and went, "Sah?"

"Why don't you pick up your books first?"

This begins the funny part. She starts putting her books away, but she's trying to put a big book on the small shelf, and she can't make it fit, and she starts crying. But she never stops trying to put the book where it won't fit. And I'm laughing as I type this. So here we have a toddler, with a bunch of butterfly clips in her hair and a ponytail in a cute dress, crying for all she's worth, bloody mercy, trying to put a book back on a shelf where it doesn't fit. It's hilarious to me!

Not because I like seeing her suffer, but because she's making herself suffer. For almost nothing. I just sat there on the couch. I told her she didn't have to cry. But she's at this point in her life where she's so excited to be able to say one word at a time that she just says, through sobs, "Cry!" Even hilariouser! Then she goes, "Baby!"

But she made the book fit, on top of the other books, and then, sobbing the whole time, she finished putting back all six books that were on the floor. Then I told her good job, nice work, that's my good little girl, and I'm thinking right now that maybe I shouldn't call her a little girl anymore, and then, after the big subtle hint, I thought it was probably time to put her down for a nap.

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