Rosie Mae. Is there a way to sum her up? I do not think there are enough words to do her justice, not even with all the unlimited vastness of space available for writing that exists on the internet. But I’m going to keep plugging away at my feeble attempt regardless.
First of all, there’s the beloved and oft accessorized Owl Hat, the epitome of her adorable quirkiness. It will be a sad and momentous day if and when it falls out of favor.
Second, there’s her humor. She has an uncanny sense of comedic timing, and uses it often. She has long known that the way she pronounces the word “washcloth” makes me laugh (kwah-quash) and recently has been randomly inserting it into conversations in which she feels left out. Prime time for this action is when Noah begs to play the “plus” game: inevitably at some point during my line of mathematical questioning, we’ll hear this low rumble of anticipatory chuckles, and then just as the words “seven plus thirteen” leave my mouth she’s there with a hearty, robust KWAHQUASH! and a good sixty seconds of spasmodic laughter. I’m not gonna lie, it gets me every time.
Then there’s the unintentional hilarity. Yesterday for lunch I handed her a quarter of a pb & j sandwich, and she spent a full thirty motionless seconds staring at it before gingerly touching a protruding glob of dripping peanut butter and declaring, “Mama. It has a booger.” Then she ate it.
One of her favorite phrases is LEAVE MY LONE. (Even though she only really means it for about five seconds.) If you ask her—out of the blue— what her mad face is, she’ll drop her eyes to half-lidded disdain, wait a beat, and then dissolve into giggles. If you request it again, she’ll go from laughing straight back into “I will cutchew” glare without skipping a beat. This makes me inexplicably proud.
She greets her clean folded clothes like long lost relatives, home from the war. “My pretty dress!” she gasps, scooping it into a longing embrace. “My pink pants!” She loves to have her nails painted, and coos over anyone else with whose nails have color. “You got fingernails?” she asks. Or if you’re dolled up with nice lipstick: “You got lips?”
It has been said a few times that she has my personality, and even if that’s only partly true, I consider it an extraordinary compliment.
I love her, is what I’m saying, you guys. She is my favorite girl.