This is not a picture post, because although I took a picture this morning before I dropped Ellie off at the daycare, I did not bring my camera cable with me to school, and I am in an unaccustomed classroom at the moment (teaching ACT prep in a computer lab), and although the sounds of pencils scratching on scantron sheets is soothing in the extreme, I am not in my classroom where I have a cable somewhere, I think.
So there is not picture.
There is, however, a very cute story.
Ellie, as some of you may know, is not one for calling me Mommy. She can say Ron, she can say something for Grandma, she can say Daddy, she can say Cat in the Hat, she can say Fox in Socks -- well, she can say something that is clearly meant for Fox in Socks, although it is somewhat more obscene than I hope Dr. Seuss intended -- she can say apple, although she won't eat them, she can say noodles, she can say bath, she can say ketchup and fries and no and yes and don't and dog and duck and cow and ham and orange and mouse and any number of words that aren't mommy.
And, of course, she can say Mommy; she just chooses not to most of the time.
Among the words that Ellie can say is "brioche" (also, croissant, because she is picky about her French breakfast breads). And she says it all the time. She loves brioche. She spent most of dinner at Leo's parents' house Sunday night yelling (and, it has to be admitted, screaming and carrying on) about how she NEEDED brioche.
When I picked her up on Monday, having not given her brioche for TWO WHOLE DAYS, she waited until we were getting in the car, and said "I need joshe. Go hoe food, mama?" [I need brioche. Go to Whole Foods, mommy?].
I feel put in my place. And my place is the place occupied by someone who is not a source of food.