Hey Jolla!

Jolla.

That is what we hear around the house these days. It’s Anya’s word for Dave. We thought it was Russian, but alas, it is straight out of her own little mind.

Hey Jolla!

Where’s Jolla?

Whacha doin Jolla?

Stop it, Jolla!

Jolla, where are you? Jolla!

Jolla this and Jolla that. We figure that it is derived from the phrase, “Sorry Charlie.”

That morphed into “Solla Jolla,” and that is our best guess.

Do you know what I get?

While walking down the hall, punches on my backside while she announces, “Big bottom!”

While she caresses my cheek, “You shave Mama.”

While gazing into my eyes, “You Baba Yaga eyes” (Russia’s very own Wicked Witch).

While laying next to me cradled in my arm, “You smell like giraffe.”

She should know. She fed a giraffe lettuce, up close and all, at the Santa Barbara Zoo.

If I say I am Jolla, she says “NO. You Madamma. Madamma Baba Yaga.” I assume Madamma is Madam, but I am not sure it is used in a flattering way. Especially when you follow it with a witch name.

Good thing I already raised four crazy kids with sharp minds and tongues or I might be getting my feelings hurt. I pity the mom who adopts an older kid and longs for sweet baby like connection!!

Been a long several weeks as Anya feels her abandonment and processes it. Hard on her and hard on us. She’s a trooper though and most sessions of her feeling worthy of being abandoned end with a big smile and “Do you love me?” followed by “Are you sure?” and more smiling. One of the things I think is so charming about her grief  over being a dwarf (if there can be such a thing) is the part where she bargains. With me. Like I can do anything about it. Her attitude is so innocent. “Mama, please, PLEASE my arms and legs bigger, please? Pull it, okay?!” This is followed by her demonstration of how I should stretch her limbs. At least she is going through the proper steps of grief.

Speaking of “pull it,” Scott taught her to put her hands in her pockets when she is getting, as he says, handsy. Now if she doesn’t want you touching her or her things (or for Dave to tease her), she points to our hands and commands us to “puuuuull it back” and then sometimes adds, “in a pocket.”

The boys and Anya and I were in the kitchen and she was chatting away with us. She opened a low drawer, reached in and pulled out………a dog leash. Now, that is NOT where I store them. We all busted up because it looked so odd, right in the middle of a conversation, a dog leash coming out of a kitchen drawer. I don't know though, maybe that is where you keep yours.

One last laugh. Yesterday I was having Anya wash her hands at the kitchen sink after helping Scott plant seedlings. She was almost done and I took something into the living room and then went back into the kitchen.

I found her half laying on the countertop, reaching for the garbage disposal switch. (There is no way she could turn it on and get her hands anywhere near the bottom of our deep sink-and I’m sure the noise would have sent her flying off the counter in fear, she HATES loud toilets and such.)

I asked what she was doing, as I pulled her down and noticed she had dried her hands and thrown the wet paper towels that resembled wet toilet paper into the sink.

“Flushin.”

Well, no one can say she ain't a smart cookie.

~Monica