As I previously mentioned, Elisabeth has been growing more and more interested in Spanish. Problem is, she's stubborn. And thinks she knows everything. Case in point - she's been learning please and thank you in Spanish. She said, "mommy, can I have some juice por favor?" So I told her that she could. She responded with "gracias. granada." I tried to explain that I would be the person to say granada, and in fact it would be de nada. "No, mommy, GRANADA. I want to say granada. Its granada." Why argue?

The poor woman who cleans our house* heard me butchering her native language by trying to read these library books I got for Elisabeth. They are half in English, half in Spanish. I actually heard her snickering in the other room. We struck a deal. She is going to read to Elisabeth in Spanish, and I'm going to help her study for her citizenship test.

This morning, I sat down on the bed in our bedroom and felt that something wasn't right. I got up quickly and realized that I had sat on the cat. I said "oooooh!" (you can't hear me, I know, but it is a sort of high pitched, nasally, oh my gosh, did I kill the cat rhymes with "eeew" type of expression). This, of COURSE, piqued the interest of Elisabeth (who was entranced by Zoe and Abby fighting over a ball on Sesame Street). "What Mommy? Why you said oooooh! What happened? Did you do something? What did you do? What Mommy?" Now, the smart mother would have just let her continue her littany of questions, uninterrupted, until she either forgot what she was saying or had to pee. Not me. I interrupted her and said, "oh, I thought I hurt Willy (cat)." She said, "how did you hurt Willy? why mommy? why did you hurt Willy? huh? Mommy?" Again - I stupidly interjected, "I accidentally sat on him. He's ok." And then she, I kid you not, put her hands on her hips, looked at me very seriously and said, "Mommy. We're not supposed to sit on the cats."

In other far less exciting news, I finally got my grades in from last semester and now I can say with certainty that I graduated law school. And I have one more month of bar study. I think that I can make it, but all bets are off as to whether I'll pass. Ooooh and I get to go to Costco tomorrow. I love Costco.

*: the woman is not literally poor. however, she is "poor" in two senses. First, she has to clean our house. She loves to make things look nice, and well - sometimes that just isn't possible around here. She makes our bed look luxurious if you crop out the piles of crap that exist on each side of it. She probably goes home and wonders how we live. Our master bedroom is quite literally getting overrun with piles of children's clothes and maternity clothes that need relocation. But, she will never know how much I truly appreciate her. Second, she is "poor" because she has no idea what is about to hit her when she tries to teach Elisabeth anything!