Wipe my nose! Wipe my nose! she hollers to me from across the room.
Please mom, I say. Please mom can you wipe my nose.
Please mom can you wipe my nose, she repeats back for the hundredth time that day as I grab a tissue from the table and head towards her.
If I wasn't entirely sure that she inherited her screeching, demanding manners from me I would find them even more trying then I sometimes do. Water! she yells. Snack! she shouts. Read me a book! she calls out to anyone within listening distance. Her voice rivals mine in its high pitch intensity and makes me fondly recall the day early in our relationship that I bellowed to the husband where's my shake?! from the other room. He has never let me forget that. Just as I will never let the girl forget the many demands she now places on me.
Despite these seemingly constant requests and commands, the girl is still somehow developing impressive manners. In fact, they are much better than mine.
All of a sudden the girl has discovered may. When she does ask for something, may has replaced can. May I make myself a sandwich? May I watch a video when the boy is napping? May I sit on your lap, if you mind? There is a primeness to this phrasing that I find so endearing. It makes me think she should be wearing a starched dress and pinafore instead of peanut butter stained t-shirt and pajama bottoms. With a cherry stained face.
When she isn't yelling those requests, it is very hard not to say no.