She recently made up a word. I believe it's spelled O-Z-U-L-E-E-N-E-R-S. She would NO DOUBT correct me. The only challenge is that it's now on the list of "What does that mean?" and how in the hell am I supposed to answer that?
I made up a definition after being asked 4,117 times since breakfast "What does 'ozuleeners' mean?".
me: It means to scrub.
rio: Actually,that's not even close.
me: Well then, what does it mean?
rio: How should I know? That's why I asked you!
So. Yeah. Tomorrow is the Tea Party at Rio's school. I'd better get to bed so I'm not the scary looking mom.
Returning to blogging.
Before I had a kid, I had no way to mark time. She firmly believes she's the center of the known Universe and that everything that happens involves her *somehow*. Every thing that I tell her about triggers the question, "How old was I?" and it is at once endearing, and maddening.
But I look at her now. She has a huge vocabulary. She has her own style of dress and I happen to believe she's channeling the lost spirit of Liberace most of the time. She's better in heels than I. She's better at math than I. She's says 'Go-ed' for 'went' and it's the only time of the day I get to feel smug.
She's 4 years, 10 months, and 9 days old. That's when my life really began.