Baby ticken

     Yesterday Clara got into the Tupperware container that holds her hair ties and head bands.  She put several hair ties around her wrists and some hairbands around her neck.
    "Neckyices, Mommy," she explained, preening.
    "Hey, please don't put those hair ties on your wrists! They cut into your skin!" I said, reaching for her.
     "No! Yet me do dis, Mommy!" She took off down the hall, ran into her bedroom, and then turned around just inside the door to enjoy the full deliciousness of being chased, the way it made her back tingle. Then she slammed the door with aplomb.  I opened it and she ran to the end of her crib, shrieking in delight.
     "You can't dit me!"
     I chased her into her closet, growling into the gloom, and then started flipping through the outfits hanging up to find one for her to wear.
     "Mommy! Hurts my wrist!" she said, coming out of the closet and holding up her hands.
     "I know!  What did I tell you!  These bands cut into your little wrists!" I pulled the rubber bands off her wrists and put them back in the Tupperware, snapping the lid on tight.  I handed her a shirt.
     "Would you like to put this on?"
     "Yes."
     It kept her busy while I straightened the bathroom.  After a minute I heard her muttering, vacillating between worry and exasperation: How come she couldn't get this darn thing on? What the heck was up with this shirt? Was she doing it wrong? Someone had made it wrong, for sure.  Didn't people even know how to make shirts anymore? For crying out loud.
     She had put one arm correctly through the shirt's armhole, but put the other arm through the neck opening.
     "It's too big fer me, Mommy," she said anxiously.
     "It's not too big.  It's just that that hole is for your head, not your arm.  It's okay, though.  Shirts are a very confusing thing.  Would you like me to help you put it on?"
     "Yes.  Mommy heps."
     I put it on her and then we went downstairs so I could make her some scrambled eggs.  She ran around the kitchen, yelling, "Wheels on da bus go roun and roun!"  Soon this morphed into, "Wheels on da bus go meow meow meow!"
     "Do the wheels on the bus go meow like a cat?" I asked, grinning down at her.
     "Noooo!" she said, snorting with laughter.  She cracked herself up.  She giggled so hard she collapsed against my legs.
     "Mommy, huggie," she finally said.  I swung her onto my hip so she could watch me make the eggs.
     "There's a baby ticken in dere," she said, pointing to the eggs, grinning like it was a special secret.
     "No, no baby chickens in there," I said.
     "Yep! Ticken in dere!  Ticken cookin', Mommy!"