The other day, from Ramona:
"Mommy, as I'm looking at that powdery snow on our front porch, it makes me think of Alton Brown's powdered sugar. And when I think of Alton Brown's powdered sugar, it makes me want to watch 'Let Them Eat Foam.'"
Me: "Okay, that's fine. You can watch that."
Ramona: "No -- here's my crisis! I also want to read Because of Winn-Dixie!"
It's torture to be an eight-year-old.
If you read my blog on a feed reader, and don't follow me on Twitter or Facebook, here are some of the latest Ramona Moments (which seem to always end up as Tweets these days):
She's the Clean Queen: Ramona played restaurant. Taped to the bathroom mirror I found this note: "All Employees MUST WASH THEIR HANDS."
from Ramona: "Can we buy some red fruit punch? It's rather toxic, but it's really yummy."
Ramona, reading "The Enormous Egg": "I hate to not suspend my disbelief, Mommy, but this book is wrong. A hen can NOT lay a dinosaur egg."
Cabin fever, anyone? Ramona was moping. "What's the matter?" I asked. "The usual," she said. "Winter Upset-ment."
Was going to catch up on Tweets but Ramona just summoned me: "Accio Mommy!"
Ramona's woeful life: "My sisters won't let me sing perky commercial jingles!"
from Ramona: "Mommy, I apologize for thinking Springsteen was dead."