Londyn

Meet my arch nemesis, Londyn.

She doesn't listen to a word I say.  She has to be asked repeatedly to do the simplest things.  She delights in making messes.

She is a replica of me, minus 27ish years.

In a way, this is comforting to me.  Because if she really is like me, then even though she delights in her independence on the outside, I know that on the inside she is hearing the things her mother is trying to teach her, and she will remember them.  And that even though she will never admit it to anybody, deep deep down she wants to be good.

I've also discovered recently that Londyn and Will share an important character trait:  they make me laugh when I want to be cranky.  Which, unfortunately for my family, is pretty often.  But they both have a way of breaking through and making me laugh, even when I'm in a crabby mood.  I'm glad she inherited that trait from her father.  Hopefully it will make life with me as her mother somewhat more bearable. 

Some recent Londynisms:

"I wish I had a more cry-y life.  Like Calvin."  Me:  "You like to cry?"  L:  "Yeah.  That's the whole reason I get owies."

To Calvin:  "Spit-uping is CANCELLED!"

Seeing a tape measure on the floor:  "Wow Mom, that's a long string of numbers!  Can I organize it?"  A few minutes later:  "Mom, I think I've figured out these numbers.  They are very old, and very odd."

That last one is a prime example of the kind of conversations we have around here.  Londyn is alone a lot.  She goes to preschool two mornings a week, but the rest of her days are spent here at home, usually playing a made-up game by herself.  She has developed a creative and imaginative mind.  It's a good thing.  And every once in a while when I can eavesdrop on her play time, I get a good chuckle.

Funny little Londyn Bean.