Momnesia

Panty Raid

Emerson is in her mimicry phase. Everything we do, she wants to do, too. Is Dada shaving his face? You can be sure to find her perched on her little chair, reaching for his electric razor, just a few minute after he finishes. Is Mama cooking? Emerson will help by bringing random ingredients from the refrigerator. Macaroni and cheese with grape jelly, anyone? Really, we have plenty.

She wears our shoes and shuffles around the house. She envelopes her head in Scott's baseball caps so that she can't see where she is going. She points imperiously to the dog and shouts, "No, Rara!" whenever there is food nearby. He likes to steal it and run off laughing. Yes, our dog laughs. Do not question this if you have not met him. He's a little trickster.

This morning took the cake. While following me around the house, watching me get ready, she freaked out when I started to put on my panties and then she ran into the kitchen. I followed her to see what she was doing.

There she was on the linoleum floor, pulling on a pair of underwear from the clothes hamper. It took her a while to figure out how to get them on straight, arrange her legs properly, and stand up. When she did, it was golden. She was so proud with them pulled up to her armpits over her footie pajamas, grinning, shuffling towards me like an old man while holding them up. "Fwowers!" she said, pointing to the lace arrangement, while I died laughing. "Very good!" I choked out. "Flowers!" She clapped her hands and shuffled off, a victim of emulation being sometimes not so flattering.