At the park, for instance, where she whacks more people than Sammy “The Bull” Gravano. And you can't see it coming. There is no build-up, no provocation, just that whackin' hand reaching out to whomever happens to be on her radar.
It goes a little like this: "I'm poopin' mama. NOOOOOOOOOO!!! MY POOOOOOOOOOP!" Then she puts the smack down on some unsuspecting little thing in a Mickey Mouse onesie.
Yesterday she took a little girl's sandals. Marched around the park shrieking, "MMMMMMMMY sanals!" Tried to smack the girl when I gave her her sandals back. The girl was, like, twelve.
The other day a little boy about her age was looking her way. I think he was about to propose when, out of nowhere, she clobbered him with her slotted spoon. Before I could get to her, she got another good whack in. Why don't these kids run?? I made her say sorry, and she did. She hugged him, whispered, "Sorry," and clocked him again. She's like the Black Widow, this one.
Today she and I went on a little date to Super Target. She sat buckled in the cart, with her chubby little legs dangling below her sweetest sundress, and maintained a ten-foot clearance between us and anyone who happened by. "NNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOO. Bat's MYYYY cart!!!!! Bat's not wour cart!!!!!" Little kids cowered. Big kids cowered. One grown man openly laughed every time he passed us.
This went on the entire time we were in Super Target, mind you. I'm not even exaggerating. At one point she was distracted by a bag of rice cakes I put in the cart. "I wanna rice cake, mama. Peas?" Just to teach her a lesson, I said no. Just to return the favor, she said, "I. want. ARICECAKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Here comes laughing man again. "NO. Bat's MYYY cart! Bat's MYYY ricecake."
How am I responding to all of this, you ask? I'm not. I am doin' Paul Revere in my head.
I clearly remember Thing One's first attempt at defiance. He was about 2, and when I suggested we get dressed, he stood in the corner and timidly asked, "No?" Then he just quit hearing or seeing me for about a year and a half.
Thing Two's "Nos" sort of slam onto my head from above. Like the A.C.M.E. crate, and I am Wyle E. Coyote.