Mermaid Salad

Being three apparently has a lot of advantages I hadn't thought of before. We were at the dinner table the other day eating ham, which Mommy and Daddy were enjoying with a spot of mustard and a little horseradish, when Sydney insisted that she also needed to have some mustard and horseradish. Leaning on our past experiences with this child we were pretty sure that she didn't like either, and told her so.

"Three year olds like mustard," she said. And they do. They like horseradish too, it turns out. Plain, with no ham to interfere.

So my little gourmand came into the kitchen with her toy elephant last night explaining that she and the elephant were hungry and they wanted to go to a restaurant.

"Okay," I said, playing the role of the waiter, "what do you and the elephant want?"

"I want a peanut butter and samwich," she said, clearly, "and the elephant wants mermaid salad."

Don't blink, I thought, and said, "Does he want a mermaid salad sandwich or just mermaid salad?"

"Just mermaid salad, please."

So Sydney had a peanut butter sandwich and the elephant ate his mermaid salad.

A little while later she came up to me and asked: "Excuse me, how do you make mermaid salad?"

I have no idea. "First," I said confidently, "you catch some mermaids."

"Yeah?"

"Then you cut the tails off."

"Why?"

"Because that's the part you eat. Then you cook them for 35 minutes, and you put them in a big bowl."

"Yeah?"

"And then you add mayonnaise, onions, celery, pepper and salt." Essentially I have just subsituted mermaid for tuna. Yummy.

"Oh!" Sydney said, "My elephant is still hungry. Can he have some more?" And off she went with more mermaid salad for her elephant.

But what have I done? Is she going to traumatize some little girl with a Little Mermaid t-shirt by making yum yum noises at it? Is she going to ask her pre-school teachers if they can make mermaid salad? Have I altered my daughter's experience with half-fish, half-human mythological creatures for life? Or is she really just skipping all that and admitting that all they may be good for is a substitute for tuna salad?

I wish I was three... I'd probably know the answer.

Quod Erat Demonstrandum

Sydney's powers of reasoning have sky-rocketed over the past few weeks. Today she reasoned that, when asked what her grandmother said and her grandmother replied, "I didn't say anything," that it must mean that her grandmother's mouth was stuck up with glue. There are a few gaps in this reasoning, to be sure, but it's not bad for a first try.

When I was in college I took a logic course with the specific goal of being able to reason nonsense in such a fashion that no one could argue with me. This same desire may have been passed down to my daughter who the other day very sanely reasoned that soap was made of rubber. Observe:

1. Wild rice is yummy.
2. It is yummy because it tastes good and also because it has a neat texture.
3. The texture of wild rice is slippery, crunchy and a little rubbery.
4. Soap is slippery.
5. Therefore, soap is made out of rubber.

Obviously.

Third Time a Charm

Now fully versed in English and with a long memory, Sydney got exactly what she wanted for her birthday: a chocolate cake, vanilla frosting and chocolate (no, wait, I want vanilla) ice cream. She also had: three red balloons, a single candle with a three on it, a bunch of daffodils, a hat and a sweater, a veterinary kit, a craft table, play doh, a book of Curious George, a bubble maker, and a guitar.

Not a bad haul for a three year old.

She also definitely has the birthday, now-I'm-a-year-older concept down. This morning she told me she was still three. And that next year, she would be sixty.

From three to sixty in one year? The way time speeds up around here, I don't doubt it.

Building the Girl

Since we live on a farm, Sydney is exposed to probably more adventures than your average three year old, just by being at home. Last year she acquired a toy chainsaw and she can frequently be seen working along side Daddy or Mommy, cutting up sticks, grass, snow banks or whatever else gets in the way. Ever since Daddy had an accident, she's also realized the thing can be dangerous; consequently whenever she gets any kind of cut or scratch and a random stranger makes the mistake of asking her how she got it, she will bravely tell them she did it with a chainsaw.

Despite this statement we have not yet been visited by child welfare officers.

At any rate our pint sized farmer is coming along fine. While playing in the sandbox at her preschool the other day, she announced to the boys bunched along the sides that she was digging a trench.

"A trench??" the boys asked, increduously. They'd never dug anything but holes. "What's a trench?"

"A trench," Sydney explained, "Can be a big hole or a small hole. I'm digging a big hole."

I think the boys have some catching up to do, if they want to dig trenches with Sydney.

Manners

A few days ago I asked Sydney if I could have a piece of her cookie. She must have been in a good mood, since she answered, "Yes, you may sure can!" And she even broke off a sizable piece and gave it to me.

I fully realize that she picks up these phrases and mannerisms from the people around her (mostly me and my husband), but they are both amazingly endearing and hilariously funny coming out of the mouth of a not-quite three-year-old. And you never know when you might encounter them. Yesterday evening at dinner, my husband offered Sydney a cucumber slice, to which she waved her hand at him and said, "No, thank you for the offer, though."

A little while later, he offered her a bite of fish, to which she replied:

"BLECCCHHH!!!"

So at least we know she's still not-quite three and not some old soul stuck in a child's body.