Another busy day today, though everyone was pretty agreeable due to some absolutely indulgent parenting. I figure Mom is set for about two weeks of hearing Anna say how Daddy lets her eat/watch/throw/play with/draw on whatever she wants to. I mean two more weeks.

This morning we rolled out of bed, and quickly were dressed and ready to go to the Pancake House. Our waitress was absolutely charmed by our little father-daughter outing; to boot, Anna was pouring on the cuteness as the waitress brought us our beverages. As I ordered for us, Anna interrupted to say, “Excuse me, I need to tell her something.” I instructed her to go ahead. “Thank you for bringing my orange juice!” she said with glee. The waitress and I each marveled for a moment, then the waitress recovered to say, “You’re welcome! What wonderful manners for a young lady!” Anna beamed briefly as the waitress moved on, then stuck her hand down the front of her pull-up and begin digging around as if looking for spare change. “Not good manners, Anna,” I explained, returning both hands to plain view.

Over the next half-hour, Anna neatly and politely consumed her glass of orange juice, her bowl of corn flakes, half my eggs, and a pancake. I can’t remember having seen a more civil display of public behavior from my young daughter. At the end of the meal, the waitress asked, “where did you learn such good manners?” Anna was silent. “From Mommy and Daddy?” the waitress suggested. Finally Anna said, “Mom… er, Daddy! From Daddy!” Oh, somebody was so getting a cookie when we got home. As the waitress left, Anna piped, “From S.! From S.!”¹

When we got home, Anna was nearing the frosted-flakes- and maple-syrup-induced-coma stage, so she sat quietly in the family room listening to music, while I hung the toddler swing on the newly erected swingset frame. It took a fairly long time, but I finished in time to push her on the swing for a full hour before lunch. Sometimes with Bear, sometimes without Bear, sometimes while drinking milk, sometimes with Bear and milk. After eating lunch (in the fort), and swinging for a few more minutes, she had an hour and twenty minute nap. The plan was to go the Zoo after nap, but she was distracted by another ninety minutes in the swing. Before it was too late, we jetted down to the Zoo in time to see the snakes, the petting zoo, and for some reason, the bugs. She really liked the enormous stick bugs; I practically had to pry her away. There was a tense moment at the petting zoo, when she was observing the miniature horses, and inquired about a certain area of the animal’s anatomy. When, with hushed voice, I honestly told her what it was, I was actually relieved that she didn’t believe me. “No it’s not! That’s her poo!”

We stopped on the way home for a six-piece McNuggets, and still had time for dinner in the fort and another forty-five minutes of swinging before starting up for bed. After getting dressed for bed and brushing teeth, we had a short “magazine read,” where we independently browsed periodicals for five minutes, then a “book read,” where we chose books and did the same, then finally a Curious George story, daily review, Happy Fings, and, finally, blissful quiet.

¹ S. is one of the four-year-old twins from day care, who is the source of virtually all appalling behavior.