I was talking to my mom last night and realized something alarming: Sam is getting to be the age at which I had my own earliest surviving memories from childhood --random stuff from when I was 5 or 6 years old that I can remember to this day. This is worrisome because of the implication that everything I do now had a very real chance of scarring her for life. And knowing my luck, decades from now she'll remember the one time I chastised her for blowing bubbles in her milk and she'll tell the electric company that they can go ahead and shut off my heat. And then make an appointment in a few weeks to collect and liquefy my remains.
Of course, if I'm lucky and diligent, maybe she'll remember a few good times, too. Like last night, when we got to the Jabba the Hutt level in Lego Star Wars and we actually cooperated to defeat the giant rancor monster. That part of the game was incredibly hectic, with each of us guiding our little characters around while this big, bellowing monster chased us. We were screaming to each other and laughing the whole time while we tried to figure out the trick to beating the game, and thinking back on it the atmosphere really struck me as being a lot like when I would whoop it up at LAN parties with other gamers. Only with slightly less profanity.
After we finally beat the level it was time to turn in for the night, but Sam carried some residual elation with her all through her bedtime routine and, presumably, this very moment. So for the sake of my soon to be liquefied bones, I hope she remembers that instead of the milk bubbles thing. I know I will.
Mandy says "Hi." She could probably spell it, too, if it came to that. The other day she surprised me again by correctly identifying several of the letters in her "Mrs. Spider's ABCs" book, specifically the ones relating to the Earthworms, Queen bee, and Termites. I'm pretty sure I wasn't doing this at 2 years old, so I'm just resigning myself now to her inevitable planet-wide conquest and domination. You should, too.