My Brilliant Make-out Artist

I admit, I have done a lot of trash-talkin’ about Phoebe and while I always add my love for her—she is due for a tribute to her uniqueness and wonder.

First of all, what you might not know is that I literally look forward to seeing her in the morning. I still worry about her during the night. I am a light sleeper and when I wake I have to fight the urge to check on her. And by daybreak, I am anxious to see her sunny face and sparkling personality.

She doesn’t ever disappoint with her a.m. hairdo. It is never quite the same and never un-amusing. She always looks like a old lady from the back with a month-old perm, and from the front, she can rock a Mohawk due to her unusual double-swirled cowlicks or a sort of Flock of Seagulls thing, or maybe just a very, queer, comb-over ala Donald Trump.

Aside from her follicle follies, she is always happy and looking anxious to begin what will inevitably be a very interesting day.

Today, she has taken to following me around and insisting on kisses. I am thrilled and bend down for a peck, only to find that when she says “KSSS”, she means; make-out under the bleachers, I hope you have a note from your parent’s; you will be late for seventh period. She is persistent, open-mouthed, very inaccurate, and much too wet. If you can get past the fact she is a toddler, good-looking, and a girl---she is pretty much my high school sweetheart.

Now, seeing as how I love this kid in a way that boggles my own imagination, I want to kiss her. I could even kiss her for hours, it would be swell. But her intentions are borderline illegal, and I can’t believe at the age of 15 months, I am forced to educate her on the laws of our state and country.

Laws be damned, I kiss her a lot today. Tomorrow, she might learn about pinching, and I had better make hay while the sun shines.

If she is anything like me, and I told she might be, then her passion du jour should be encouraged as it may be fleeting or dry up without proper nurturing. And squelching positive pursuits can only lead to negative consequences. Pucker up Mommy!

Beyond her amorous nature, I have been informed she is quite smart by her new preschool teachers.

Now, there are very few children that I have met who couldn’t be classified as “advanced”. I think often times one talent is recognized and another ignored, or just seen as commonplace by the dazed, sleep-deprived, person witnessing daily. Take my friend Julie, she was always telling me that Gabriel was advanced because he strung words together early. But I watched her twin boys scale her mantel and damn-near repel off the thing, while my boy couldn’t handle a Jumpy-Jump, without a spotter and head-gear. Those guys amazed me. And that kind of physical prowess cannot be overshadowed by language. We can all order fries with a burger, but few of us can master a Tomahawk-360-slam-dunk like Jordan? It is different, special, and cool.

So, upon hearing that Phoebe was gifted, I was anxious to know how she expressed her brilliance for the world to see. “That’s great. What did she do?”

Evidently, she pulled apart her peanut-butter sandwich and smashed the legume-smeared bread in her little face. Genius! I mean, clearly.

Seriously, a kid on a low-carb diet warrants a “really bright” label?

I guess I was looking for something a bit more…theory of relativity. But if dietary penchants qualify for IQ then the paste-eaters in my day probably went on to do great things. I am sure we owe the popularity of the iPod to a very special chalk-board licker.

Truth be told, you can’t tell me enough great things about my kids. I am the ultimate audience for their compliments and random observations, good and bad. I am obsessed with those two short people. And for better or worse, I will love them until I can no longer dodge Phoebe’s misguided advances.

They are the peanut-butter holding this wedge of soggy wheat-bread together.