The Shirt, And Motormouth Jones

A few months ago I was unloading some clothes at a consignment shop and spotted this shirt. I like wearing pale purple shades because, truly, without makeup on the circles under my eyes are this color (OK, a lot darker) and with makeup on in a strategic way I kind of look like I have this color of liner or shadow on. So I was drawn to it. (Not that I have since actually put makeup on in any sort of strategic way.)

I liked it because it's sort of clean-cut but still very comfortable for my 9-5 job of child wrangling. However, from the first time I wore it, Trevor has made jokes about it and flat-out told me not to wear it anymore. I agree that it might make me look bigger than normal, since it's not fitted, but whatever, right? RIGHT?

Well Trevor isn't home this evening, so when I dressed earlier I reached for my comfy, baggy shirt. And this afternoon, Berit and I were playing airplane and when I brought her down so she was at eye level with me, she ran her hands over my shoulders and said, "Mama, why are you wearing this shirt?" I said, "Because I like it." And she said, "But Mama, are you going to the dentist today?" I said, "No, why?" And she said, "Because this is the kind of shirt the dentist wears over his clothes."

Nice. At least Marta likes to bite the buttons.

Speaking of things Berit has said today, here's a brief clip of what today, and every day since about early last week, has sounded like:

Berit: Mama are you hungry? I'm not hungry. If you were hungry would you eat oatmeal? Marta likes oatmeal. I can jump. Can you jump? I can jump high. Mama watch me jump. Can you help me jump? I want to color. Can I use this pen? Can I make a house? Mama help me make a house. Can you do it for me? I love Mosey. Mosey-Rosey-Posey. Hey Rose. Rose! Rose! ROSE! Come HERE Rose. Mama he's not coming. Mama can you help me make Mosey come here? Mama do you like purple? Do you really like purple? Do you like purple so so much? Mama I'm cold. Get my slippers! Ma-ma, can-you-get-my-slippers-pl-eea-se? Do you want to see me run in my slippers? Watch me. Watch me! Watch out Marta. Marta! MARTA! (Shove) Sorry Sarta. Mama I call Marta Sarta. Sarta-Sarta-Sarta-Sarta! Mama I'm hot. Mama can you help me take off my slippers?

Seriously, this goes on nonstop, all day long. It drive me crazy but I keep telling myself it's because she's had an explosion of brain development and she's just too darn smart to contain herself. It helps. So does wine.