Phoebe's most recent obsession is this poor innocent baby figurine. It came in a set of people that Grandma bought to go with the dollhouse when we moved from Egypt back to Utah...and straight into my in-law's house. (You can see some pictures of Rachel playing with the dollhouse stuff here; after Karen's death, the "original" dollhouse and many of the people and accessories went to Emily while we tried to only take the newer stuff that my girls had grown up playing with...though I'm sure things got jumbled a bit).
Anyway, this poor innocent baby figurine is approximately 15 years old. In that time it has lost all of its limbs. But she found it in our box of dollhouse stuff and decided that it is the most precious baby to ever have existed because...she's like that.
Remember when she found and adopted Garbage Baby?
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| Now we have to know where this tiny figurine is at all times because it's in its VIP Era |
When she first started carrying around this baby, she told me that her name was Katya.
How she came up with that name I will never know, but I was impressed.
*****
The other day Phoebe came up to me while I was working, climbed onto my chair (which she claims is absolutely made for two people), and then onto my lap.
"Mom, I love you!" she crooned into my face.
"I love you, too," I said.
"Do you want to see what I did with the dollhouse stuff?"
"I do," I said. "But...I'm working right now."
"So you love me...you just never want to do anything with me?" she asked.
Like, how'd she get so passive-aggressive?!
"I do like to do things with you, and I will come look at your dollhouse stuff...after I finish what I'm doing," I explained.
Come on, kiddo—I'm working here!
This whole work-from-home thing can be confusing for kids at times (which is why it's kind of nice we still have the baby gate at the bottom of the stairs...a very clear boundary for a child who doesn't understand boundaries at all...not that I always remember to use the baby gate).
Anyway, I eventually made it down to the basement, where Phoebe had set up a beautiful "plein air" dollhouse, if you will. That is, although we have a dollhouse she often prefers to set up her furniture out in the open where she has full access to all the bits from every angle—really solidifying her omnipotent role in whatever game she's playing.
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| "And the dad sleeps in the attic," she said, placing the father figure on top of the cabinet. |
When I sent Rachel this picture she asked how many layers Phoebe was wearing. The answer is "two," and that was a compromise on both our parts. See, Phoebe wanted to wear a nightgown to bed but I had (moste cruelly) thrown her long-sleeved nightgown into the wash and it was in the middle of the cycle when she was getting ready for bed. So Phoebe chose her other nightgown, which has short sleeves.
Ordinarily this isn't a problem because it really doesn't get that cold here. However, we're in a bit of a cold snap currently and the house is a little chilly and Phoebe doesn't stay under her blankets yet (she is a chronic blanket kicker-offer) so I said that I would prefer if she chose some long-sleeved pyjamas.
She pushed back against that because if I'm saying what she can choose, that isn't much of a choice at all, which...touché.
Nevertheless, I'm the grown up in this situation, which means that sometimes I have to overrule some of her autonomy. And so I was going to insist on long sleeves. She could wear long sleeves under her nightgown, that was fine with me, but she needed long sleeves for bed so that her arms wouldn't get too cold at night.
So she stomped up to her room and came down with a set of Grogu pyjamas—shirt and pants.
So she put on the shirt and pants, and then put on her nightgown, and then insisted on putting on the pants she'd already selected to go with her nightgown (she doesn't like wearing nightgowns without pants...because then her legs get cold). I told her that she didn't need the second pair of pants because she already had a pair of pants on but...like...whatever.
I'm not huge into battling my kids over their wardrobe choices and I had already fought her on the sleeve-length thing so, like, whatever.
Wear two pairs of pants. See if I care?
"Seems like a lot of effort," Rachel observed.
And, yeah, putting two pairs of pants on was tricky for Phoebe but she was passionate about doing it so...fine.
Anyway, this little detail of the scene is what I want to zoom in on for a second:
Phoebe set up a hospital room for this poor mother who "had pregnancy...twice!"
Phoebe only recently learned that Rosie is expecting and she's terribly excited about it. I'm not sure how Phoebe didn't know since Rosie is literally like 38 weeks pregnant...and we just saw her last a few weeks ago...but...Phoebe didn't realize that Rosie was pregnant.
To be fair, kids aren't very observant.
For example, I am not 38 weeks pregnant (or pregnant at all, thank goodness!) but when we were at Rosie's house, Ireland ran up to (admittedly the back of me) and was like, "Mom!"
And then just about died when I turned around and was the wrong mom!
Anyway, my point is...little kids have no idea what pregnancy is or looks like and they really don't pay attention to belly size, apparently. Because I honestly think Rosie looks about like there could be a full-grown baby living in her belly but somehow Phoebe didn't pick up on that...and I don't think my belly looks like a full-grown baby could be living inside of it but somehow Ireland didn't pick up on that.
So, Phoebe is just over the moon that Rosie is having another baby (we're all excited) and I think that excitement manifested it in this game where the mom went to the hospital for having pregnancy...twice.
"What are the babies names?" I asked.
"This is Scarlett," she said, pointing to the baby in the crib.
"And this is Katya?" I said, pointing to the (armless, legless) baby in the cradle.
"No, her name is Emma now."
"Oh, Emma. That's lovely!" I said.
Phoebe has come a long way in her thing-naming skills. She used to be so descriptive: Garbage Baby, Beanbag Puppy, Weird Kitty. But she's picked up a little knowledge in the naming conventions department (much to the delight of her future children, I hope).
"And who is this?" I asked about a little girl nearby.
"That's Badu," she said.
"Badu?" I asked. "Interesting name."
"Yeah, it's her dad's nickname. She's named after her father."
"Makes sense. Who is this?"
"That's...ummm...Purpley," she said. "And these are...Murpley...and Schlurpley."
"Purpley, Murpley, Schlurpley—got it."
Sometimes her naming conventions schema falls apart under too much pressure and she defaults to her original impulse to name things through description. Purpley has...purple hair...so...
And then...rhyming is an age-old practice of coming up with additional names—ask any Rick/Dick, Bill/Will, Molly/Polly! So Phoebe was right on the money there!
The icing on the cake for me was when she held up another doll and said, "And this is their Aunt—Vanilla Dancer. She's a ballet teacher."
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