A Knowing Expression

Yvette has been counting down to her birthday since before Halloween. She still has four months to go. Nearly every day (or several times a day), she tells me yet another treat/activity/decoration she wants as part of her birthday. She's quite tenacious. Telling her that her birthday is too far away to start planning, (or that having donuts AND cake AND caramel popcorn AND ice cream AND lemon bars is just not practical) doesn't work.

So I have simply started agreeing with her. "Of course we can have pickles on your birthday."  But then, the loophole: "You remind me when we get to your birthday, and I'll take care of it."

I'm banking on the fact that her memory isn't that good. But agreeing with her hasn't dampened her enthusiasm. She seeks me out so frequently, just to discuss birthday plans, I am ashamed to admit I mostly tune out whatever she is saying. I really do plan on making her birthday wonderful and memorable, and worth all the anticipation. However, I am tired of talking about it, much less taking dictation. I make agreeable noises, to keep the conversation flowing, but I am not listening. At all.


Yesterday, while I was working on lunch, she ambushed me in the kitchen. I went about my task while she rambled on. At one point, she asked me a question, and I made a suggestion, which she promptly rejected it. I really did not want to start an argument with her (because she will follow me around and hound me until I agree with her...or swat her behind), or expend the energy to explain reality to her (she is only four, after all!), I said, "Well, I guess you must be right."

"You always say that, Mommy," she accused me.

I stopped to think, "Uh-oh, if I'm repeating my agreeable phrases too often, she's going to catch on, and I'm going to be in trouble".

Before I could talk my way out of it, she went on:
"I knew you were going to say that!"
"Oh, I suppose that I must say it a lot, then, huh?"
To which Yvette replied, "I knew you were going to say that, too."

Now I was mildly irritated. Know-it-alls bother me, seeing as how I am one, myself. But I tried to keep the irritation to myself. She is only four, after all. The key to dealing with Yvette is perpetual calmness, even if it's just a facade. So I replied:
"My goodness, you just know a lot of things today."

"I know," she chirped, in a voice of confident self-assurance that only a child can possess.  And then she skipped out of the kitchen.