Meet Alice.
I've been trying to teach her the name of the city we live in, a precursor to teaching her our address. After saying and repeating the correct answer about seventeen times on Monday I asked her, "Hey Alice, what city do we live in?"--- to which she responded,
"PANCAKE!"
She's more than a ham. She's the kind of child strangers want to have complete conversations with. We're in Portland with Chip this week, and yesterday had Alice and I riding the elevator to head down to the pool. On the journey down, we met Allison, a police officer staying at the hotel for some kind of conference. She and Alice discussed their similar names, the trials and tribulations of being three years old, and hair ribbons.
Later on, Chip asked me exactly how it came to be that he was sitting in the hotel lobby on a conference call when he looked up to see a perfect stranger pushing Alice around the lobby on a luggage cart--- a smiling and laughing Alice being pushed around the lobby on a luggage cart by an ecstatic smiling and laughing Alison, followed closely behind by me.
My answer was this:
Because Alice is the kind of child strangers want to push around on a hotel luggage cart.
And I guess I'm the kind of parent that lets it happen.
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2 comments:
Both of those fantastic, methinks, you and Alice.
My name was almost Alison. My parents were deciding between the two. It's funny because whenever I comment on your blog about Alice, I almost always write my name first and then have to correct.
I think I need an Alice fix... I can totally understand why strangers want to push her around. She is so cute.
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