Wogs do not walk. Wogs run. Everywhere. To get from our den to the kitchen The Wog must navigate a long hallway, one giant step, and a sharp turn through a narrow doorway immediately followed by a perilously pointy-edged foyer table. She always takes this route at full speed ahead while I hold my breath. We have learned not to talk to her about something interesting while she's on her way because if she looks back at us instead of at the path ahead she is prone to careening into doorframes.
Wogs like to smell flowers. Wogs also like to touch flowers, but we try to prevent that most of the time.
Wogs like treats and should be fed prior to going grocery shopping. Otherwise, Wogs peruse the aisles and spend the trip hopefully announcing, "Mmmm. I like cookies!" and "Mmmm. I like apples!"
Wogs do not understand that aggressively declaring something is "mine" does not make it so.
Wogs usually receive standard-type compliments but have recently received two that have us wondering. Last week at the hardware store a woman told Marc, "I bet she gets called ugly a lot." We're fairly sure she was being sarcastic, but still. Then this morning at the grocery store the check-out clerk said, "What a unique little girl." She wasn't doing anything particularly unique at the time, so I'm wondering what that comment was all about.
Wogs LOVE strawberries and will eat as many as you put in front of them and then urgently demand more. Wogs also love pierogies, grapes, yogurt and Grandma's kubba. Wogs do not like green things on their pizza. Wogs DO like Fig Newtons, even if they call them "icky cookies" for unknown reasons.
Wogs do not enjoy wearing clothes. They do enjoy wearing hats, but only of their own volition.
Wogs like presents. They like giving presents, they like getting presents, but most of all they like wrapping and unwrapping presents. Over and over and over again. So far we have wrapped an old wallet of mine, her beloved package of Huggies (see below), a small red ball, an empty necklace box and various other random household items. She doesn't so much care about what is in the package, just that she makes physical contact with the Scotch tape and then gets to carry the wrapped "present" around for as long as she can before breaking down and unwrapping it (at which point she immediately demands that we wrap it again). Usually she'll tell me the present is for her great-aunt Gloria, but sometimes it's for "Phee-baby" (Baby Phoebe), the new baby sister of one of her playmates. The wrapping gene must skip a generation as her Minnie is a fanatic (and talented!) wrapper, as well.
Here are some pictures from the first playground outing of the season:
Followed by the weekly yogurt excursion:
Coffee with Chloe:
The Wog's father is in charge of bathtime and takes great pride in Wog-grooming. Her hair looked particularly pretty this morning.
The Wog loves her Snoopy ("Noofy") doll. But lately, she has loved this package of Huggies disposable changing pads more. She insists on carrying it with her everywhere, and refers to it as "my present" or "my package."
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