Phoebe is Three

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Miss Phoebe had her birthday on Friday. She turned three and you guys, this child.  

"She is gentle! She is wild! She's a riddle! She's a child!
She's a headache! She's an angel! She's a girl!"

(Haha, but no, I just ran through that entire Maria song in my head and it describes Phoebe exactly. Seriously. It's like they wrote it about her.)

Every morning I get her up and dressed and she does her best to make the entire process as difficult as she can, laughing and randomly going limp and then bowling me over with violent hugs. I am almost always sweaty and aggrieved by the time I've wrestled shoes onto her feet, and then I have to do her hair and she HATES to have her hair brushed. Even if she doesn't have any tangles. Even if I'm not actually touching her head yet. There is no such thing as gentle enough, the only thing that keeps her from a full-out screaming tantrum is to mimic and tease her when she starts whining. Which, I don't know, but I feel like most kids don't like to be blatantly mocked. Phoebe thinks it's the funniest thing ever. Her sense of humor is just like the rest of her personality - expansive and unpredictable.

"Is the sun in your eyes, Daddy? IS IT IN YOUR NOSE?"

"Sisters! Sisters! You know what rhymes with Scotty? POTTY!"

She has this terrible siren-screech of a wail whenever things don't go her way, or maybe even whenever she thinks things might possibly not go her way, or sometimes for no reason at all. Every morning after she's all dressed and ready I send her downstairs to breakfast with the admonition to not scream at her sisters. Some mornings she triumphantly informs me as we're leaving the house that she didn't scream at anyone! High five! Other mornings...yeah. 
"What is Phoebe yelling at you about?" I'll call down the stairs to the older girls while trying to simultaneously give the baby a bottle and apply mascara.
"She dropped her fork and she wanted me to give her a new fork and I did and now she's mad at me." Is the kind of resigned explanation I usually receive. 

But if any of her siblings gets hurt she is more concerned and sympathetic than anyone. She pats them ever so gently and says, "Aww, poor baby. I'm so sorry for you!"

She sings along with every song on the radio and has a wonderful sense of rhythm and timing. She has the biggest blue eyes and the longest eyelashes to be found outside of a Disney movie. The later she stays up, the sillier she gets. Her favorite superhero is Wonder Mumman. She doesn't walk around things, she always tries to push straight through every obstacle. She still loves baby dolls, but she REALLY loves her baby brother. She is the biggest Daddy's girl ever and if anything is going wrong in her world her first coherent statement is always, "I NEED MY DADDY!" We never know if she'll concede to speak to (or even look at) anyone we see out and about. Not necessarily strangers even, I mean people she sees at school every day. But you couldn't call her shy, it's more like capricious.

For three months now she's asked us if for Christmas she could have a Tinkerbell birthday party. "You can have that for your BIRTHDAY" we'll say. "Yeah. That's what I reawy want for Christmas."

Well okay then, Merry Christmas, lovey.


  1. Awe! Happy Birthday Phoebe! Her party looked so good. (by the way I LOVE her name!)

  2. Merry Birthday, Tinkerbell! What a cutie!


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