Momnesia

Duuuuude. Counting is hard.

"I four!" Emmie runs up holding up five fingers.
"What, sweetheart?" I ask.
"I four," she grins and shows me her hand.
"Actually, you're two," I explain gently, and hold up two fingers in a peace sign.
Her face brightens.
"I two?!" she exclaims, and stares at her fingers. I don't know exactly what we're actually communicating about, but she was wrong either way. Five fingers does not equal four, and she's actually just two years old. So while I'm sure she wasn't trying to express the concept of age, I feel okay about correcting her.
"That's right," I coo.
She frowns at her hands, wiggling her fingers.
"I can't mate a two!" she shrieks, and hold up five fingers again. "I four!"
I laugh so hard I think I'm going to wet my pants. Child development specialists talk about setting appropriate goals for children, with an appropriate level of difficulty matched with an appropriate end goal. I wonder what Piaget would make of this situation.
"Honey, look," I show her my fingers, and move hers into the same position. They pop back out.
"I can't!" she cries. "I not two!"
"Yes, you can," I say. "Try it again, sweetie."
She furrows her brow in concentration, and I can see the gears moving in her head. She is willing her fingers to bend to her command. Slowly she manipulates her fingers until they settle into place.
"Loot! I two!" she shriek-laughs. Yes, she is. Two for an endless summer. She's managed to make the hang-ten sign.
"That's perfect!" I laugh. "See? One, two!"
"Yeah! Hi-fi!" she holds her palm up and we slap our hands together.
Merrily, she runs across the room, back to her paints.
How smart she is, I think. How great.
"Loot! I two!" she says.
I turn to praise her.

She's showing the dog.