The Many Faces of Cora

Four-year-old Cora, when bored, is a terror.  I have the broken glass in my car, the ink on my barstools to prove it.

So when I realized I’d heard fifteen minutes of silence after she said, “What can I DO?  There’s nothing to DO!”, I quite literally ran the house, shouting.  I spied her in her room.

Making her bed.

She’d already straightened up the TV room upstairs and made her sister’s bed.  You know, for fun.

Am I allowed to rejoice that she’s growing up so fast?  Or am I bound by parental contract to mourn that fact?

Cora can do cartwheels, play “eenee-meanie-mynee-mo,” spit accurately enough to hit enemies (she’s still Cora, after all), read “The Foot Book” by Dr. Seuss with help, carry Carter to the couch, head-up a variety of games on the trampoline, forget Carter is on the couch so that he falls, apologize to Carter, crawl on the counters to get vitamins and chocolate calcium pills, pick at lasagna without swallowing for forty-five minutes, and crack twenty jokes a day that involve the words poo or pee.  Or watermelon.  Or goo-goo, gaa-gaa.  She impersonates Carter crying, Lina singing, Daddy eating.  She pants herself.  And Mia.  She throws food, crawls upside down.  She bows to the joke always.  Is this second-child behavior?  Do I have a budding Conan O’Brien on my hands?

Life with Cora is entertaining.  And loud.

And awesome!