A Walk in the Park, Pt. II: Everything of Doom

After terrorizing their daughter by forcing her to the trauma of the torture device they call a swing, my parental units took me on two more horrifying rides. The first is a teeter totter. I will be candid in saying that, if it were not for the fact that I could see the teeter totter, I would not have even noticed that anything was different. Yet I did see the teeter totter, and thus I knew that they were attempting to destroy my tranquility.

So in my parental units' twisted conceptions of reality, they believed that the sanest course of action would be to then take me to a toy that usually brings me joy and expect me to appreciate that gesture. I was having none of it.

I know not why they thought that anything would abate my rancor, other than allowing me to consume the delectable-looking items upon the ground which they referred to as wood chips.

"This was ridiculous."

A Walk in the Park, Pt. I: Swing of Doom

Why is it that everyone foolishly and colloquially states "Like a walk in the park," as if a walk in the park was easy, delightful, or not traumatizing? I hate parks. I wish never to return. My parental units believed it would be a good idea to take me to the park the other day on the ludicrous notion that if I enjoyed this little swing months ago, that I would enjoy a large one as well.

They were absolutely wrong.

Then they thought, "Well, if she hates it by herself, why do we not combine it with another activity she dislikes, such as being held?"

Clearly my parental units are neophytes in parenting. Just wait until tomorrow to see how they thought they could calm me down.

Proud and Prejudiced

Mommy and I were sick this previous week. Worry not; our health has improved. This sickness, however, led to a wonderful discovery. Mommy showed me a wondrous motion photograph entitled "Pride and Prejudice". While it did not appear to feature any true royalty, it did portray a time more akin to my liking. I was hooked, and nothing could distract me from the Magic Box. I could not help but wonder "Who will Elizabeth marry?" "Why do they act as if pride and prejudice are anything other than worthy attributes? I have plenty of both." "Why does my castle and wardrobe not look similar to theirs?"

"Sshh, Mommy, I am attempting to watch this glorious motion photograph."

Knock knock. "Please accept me into your world!"

This obsession lasted for twenty or so minutes until I realized I thoroughly dislike sitting still and remembered I have princess toys which I could organize.

The Prince and the Ball

Mommy and Daddy and I went to a soiree the other night. One of my favorite princes was there. He was the center of attention, of course.

I, of course, took to him quite quickly, mostly because Mommy and Daddy were trying to force me into a kiss with him.

He enjoyed holding the kisses for a good while, so there were times when I had to break the connection.

The kisses only came after me using my particular skills of crawling all over the floor, chasing after other boys and making him jealous. I did, eventually, wish to be held by him instead of Daddy.

When the dancing began, I knew not what to make of the flashing lights. I will be quite honest when I say that they frightened me somewhat.

After a few moments of staring, I joined the dance floor.

The dancing fiend on which I was crushing joined me as well, although I could never match his talent.

Finally, it was time for me to go. If there is nothing else that I have learned from stories of other princesses, it is best to leave a ball as unceremoniously as possible.

Worship Services

We attend worship services every week. For those who are not religious, worship services are times when a very large congregation meet together to sit still and smile at me. Mommy and Daddy believe I should sit still as well, but I do not believe that they fully understand the purposes of a worship service. So I wiggle and grab everything within my reach and kick and talk as loudly as I can, and that is only during the first little bit. Everyone sings a good amount, and some even stand in the front to sing at times. I find all of this very enjoyable, except that everyone seems to believe they should stare at books without pictures during these songs, so I do all I can to rip the pages out of these. I only act politely during this time if I can make eye contact with people I do not know, and even then it depends on my mood. Then Daddy takes me to another, smaller room, where I am constrained to only being able to play in a small space. This does not work well for me. Let us look at today for an example. He allowed me to be on the ground, but I was forbidden from "Ripping pages out of Hymnals," "Touching people's rear ends," or "Going into the aisle when somebody is walking through." Here is a photo of me playing in that confined area:

Eventually, it became too much for me, and I screamed at Daddy's leg for blocking my escape into the free world. Suddenly I was whisked off to a wondrous place where there were many children that I could watch and Mommy was playing the piano. There was another girl there about my same age, and I enjoyed playing with her, stealing each other's toys and causing her to cry. Here I am, attempting yet another daring escape:

Daddy then took me to a room with many men, which I enjoyed, but eventually I escaped from there by pushing open the door and, before Daddy could stop me, closing the door behind me. I sat in front of it, too, but he still managed to open the door. I found myself back in the room of children. I saw my friend, and she saw me, and we both screamed, escaped our parents' arms, and crawled toward each other. After awhile of playing by her, I crawled quickly up the aisle before Daddy could reach me and successfully brought everyone's attention to me. When I look upon all that occurred, I believe it to be a very successful worship service.

Bloopers

For the last three days, I have shown parts of the same three minute motion photograph. Here are the missing portions in between that we thought you might enjoy. Before you watch it, however, you may be interested to know some interesting facts about this feature. Whenever I care to show Mommy and Daddy that I have the utmost contentedness with them, I put my face upon theirs. It is adorable, lovely, and a handy way to beguile them into allowing me to bite their noses. Daddy retaliates very well, however, by utilizing his beard to tickle my neck. It is amazing how much can come from such a short motion photograph, is it not? I am positive that I am capable of sitting still all the way through the original. Not that I have, or will, but I believe I could.

Singing in Unison

I like to sing. I like it even more when I can sing in unison with either Mommy or Daddy or both. Is that so bad? I do not think so. Mommy and Daddy, however, claim that I do this all of the time. This motion photograph was made to exemplify this fact, but I do not remember it being quite this long. I believe that they are exaggerating. Either way, I am quite the singer, am I not? I really only do this for their benefit. Every night I am forced to listen to their renditions of otherwise beautiful songs. I hope that, someday, my parents will learn from my techniques and be as superb at singing as I am. Methinks they may perchance be hopeless, yet I shall never lose hope. Who do you think is better in this clip? Remember, before you respond, which one of us is your Benevolent Monarch.

Dr. Princess Ellie, DDS

Sometimes Daddy will open his mouth wide, and I take advantage of that time to inspect his mouth. It is for his own benefit, of course.

Dr. Princess Ellie, OD

I am always attempting to retrieve Daddy's spectacles. I have written about my obsession with them in the past. I must, of necessity, utilize certain levels of guile in order to retrieve them from his face. They are quite fascinating toys, and must be in my possession.

Feeding Myself, Part II: Sorting Out Eating

As I now may feed myself, I have begun playing with my food. This, of course, means that I sort it, as that is the true way to play.

Feeding Myself, Part I: The Mess

Mommy and Daddy have been allowing me to eat more without their help as of late. I am still not fully acquainted with the concept, but I am getting there. Sometimes I wait for them to feed me, but when I catch onto the concept, I leap right in. While these photographs are quite messy, you must understand that I still eat in quite a dainty fashion, by pinching the smallest amount of food that I can between my thumb and forefinger and gently inserting it into my mouth. The issue with messiness arises when I touch my face or clothes or their clothes afterwards. What I cannot stand, however, is the audacity of my parental units, who believe that it is appropriate to wipe my face with a cloth when my face is dirty.

"Hello Daddy. I am being messy."

"I came. I ate. I conquered."

"Yes, Mommy? Do you mind just feeding me - what do you call this? Macaroni and cheese? - Yes, can you just feed me macaroni and cheese for every meal from here on out? That would be delightful, thank you!"

Disc Golf

I participated in a very peculiar sport yesterday. Well, I was more of a spectator, but I like to think that I was helpful. The sport consisted of throwing plastic plates at what appeared to be medieval torture devices, complete with chains. I did not quite understand the activity, but assume it to be some sort of holiday celebrating my rule and overthrowing of whatever previous regime may have existed before my presence. I still am incredulous regarding the presence of any previous rulers, as I doubt there was an earth before I came to it. Nevertheless, Mommy and Daddy claimed that they had not been able to participate in this sport before I came around, which suggests that they lived before me. This is all too incredible for me to believe. In any case, we found ourselves in a park flinging discs and running after them. Mommy and Daddy tried to strap me to Mommy's back, but, to my eternal gratitude, it failed, so I was allowed to ride in my pram. Daddy would often pull me along quite quickly over the bumpy ground, which brought me great enjoyment.

This is a photograph of me laughing while being pulled along at high velocity.

In one instance, while circles of plastic were flying every which way, I became fairly well acquainted with a tree. Daddy tilted me towards it so that I could more fully appreciate its texture. Trees are odd, but fun to look at and touch. If they were plants, however, I would have stayed far away. I do not like plants.

Clever Girl

I now know how to open further doors that are already ajar! I am free to roam as I please! Look out world, here comes your benevolent monarch! If you would kindly disregard that meaningless leg behind me in the second photo it would be greatly appreciated.

The one problem that I have with my new found talent is that half of the doors I have yet opened, or attempted  to open, appear to be very poorly designed. Whenever I open these doors, they simply run into my body. All doors should then work as push doors. These were created by much more talented engineers. My parents, for some reason to which I am not privy, do not share my pride in my ability. They seem to regard it with trepidation. We do not have a motion photograph of me performing my talent, so Daddy is wanting to share the following motion photograph as a replacement for one of me. I do not know to what it refers, but he says the video is comparable to what Mommy and he felt regarding me learning this technique. They say that I overreact, but I believe it is them who are the ones overreacting.

Brushing Teeth

I have recently come to the conclusion that it was time for me to be reasonable and allow my teeth to be brushed. For awhile now, I have fought vehemently against the toothbrush being anywhere near my mouth. In fact, it is probably the only toy I played with that I would not chew upon. You may ask why, and I may answer "I shall do as I please; so if you would kindly stop questioning your benevolent monarch, I will kindly stop trying to bite your finger." After many, many times of Mommy and Daddy complaining about my horrible breath, however, and stating that brushing my teeth would remedy that situation, I decided that it was time to acquiesce. A princess is nothing if not hygienic. Yet, for some reason unbeknownst to me, this does not seem to remedy the apparent reek caused by burping in a caregiver's face.

"Bobby, yo' doing id wong!"

"Shee? Id ish wike dish."

"Lemme jusht ged the bront he-ah..."

The World is More Interesting Upside Down

Life can become monotonous. You wake up, you eat, you play, you excrete bodily fluids and excrement, you eat some more, you scream at your parents for something ordinary, you go to bed. Repeat this process a few times, and you have quite a full day. Sometimes, it is a nice alternative to try looking at life differently, and I mean that quite literally. Since the first time that Daddy grasped onto my ankles and suspended me in the air upside down (which I now recognize as sounding as if it were a torture technique), I have been enthralled with the concept. There are times when, becoming disenchanted with the correct way in which the world is situated, I will fling myself backwards. Mommy and Daddy do not appreciate this, as these times are often when they least expect it and they are holding onto me. They try to restrain me (when will they learn?) but I just giggle and force my way through their arms in continuous attempts. Here is a photograph of me attempting to flip the world by my own accord and without their help.

First Sleepover

Recently, Mommy and Daddy and I went on a trip to a distant land. I do not appreciate long journeys, and I voiced my disinterest in it for a good portion of the ride. I was perfectly happy for the most part, but I would speak up up every few moments with an "And another thing..." As we do not, for some odd reason, own a vacation castle in that land, we stayed with some friends in their castle. I was completely enthralled with the castle, as there were none of these blasphemous gates to restrict my movements. There was also another little princess there, with whom I became quickly attached.

"Do not worry, young princess: I shall free you from your carriage chair. I cannot do it myself, but I shall stand here and look adorable until these servants get the message that we want to play. How shall we play? You will lay on the ground, and I will play in your general vicinity."

 We played and played, which usually ended in me being told to "be gentle" and being removed a small distance from her presence. We slept in the same room, too, so it was my very first princess sleepover. We just slept, though, so it was not exceedingly interesting enough of an experience about which to speak. I will, however, say this: no matter the comfort, beauty, or regality of a sleeping arrangement, I do not appreciate not sleeping in my own room. Parental units, I demand that the next time we travel, you bring my sleeping chambers along with us.

ACTUALLY Standing All By Myself

The moment has arrived. It is finally time for me to break free of the bonds of my parents completely. Well, nearly completely. I can now stand without any assistance for a few seconds. That is right, a whole few seconds. This may not seem long compared to your standards, but as I am much younger than you, a few seconds is quite a large portion of my life. It would be comparable to you standing for ten minutes. That is very long, is it not? I am very proud of myself whenever it happens. I do NOT, however, perform this particular ability for an audience. This is the sole photograph that anyone has been able to obtain of me practicing my stunt, and this was only obtained through much coercion.

Zumba

Mommy participates in an activity which she refers to as Zumba. I am fascinated with this activity, so much so, in fact, that I will often crawl up to Mommy's feet to watch more closely. She does not seem to appreciate this in the moment. Recently, I attempted to participate. Here is a video with my thoughts.

Booty Shaking

I have discovered a new dance. I hear that it is "all the rage" with the young ones slightly older than me. Everyone was exceedingly excited when I began performing this new routine, so I have seen little reason to return to my former arm-waving dance. I do not know if I approve of Daddy's way of showing my beauteous new way to "boogie down", but as they refer to it as "shaking my booty" (to what that is referring, I am unsure, but it does not sound especially regal), I suppose the motion picture is appropriate. More interesting videos are yet to come to showcase my excellent talent.

I am My Own Baby-Proofing

There have been a few instances as of late when I have eaten something that was on the ground, and ended up being in a very unhappy situation. Whenever I would do that, my parental units would attempt to retrieve the object from my mouth. I, of course, refused the indignity of having something I placed into my mouth removed by force. This led to them pinning me to the ground, wrenching my jaw open, and scooping out the object with their fingers. I did not appreciate these horrific experiences. So, instead, I have decided that it is better to just hand whatever I find to Mommy and Daddy. Sometimes they laugh, as I do not actually hand them anything. I figure that it is better to be safe than sorry with such dangerous situations. Here I am, attempting to hand imagined bristles from the dreaded toothbrush to my Daddy. I do not like my toothbrush, and I was just hoping that I was destroying that terrible device.

"Here you go, Daddy."

"Do you have anything to trade for this imaginary bristle?"

"...Is that real gold? That will do."

The Bubbles are Back and Better Than Ever

The magic has returned! Now the bubbles stick around after they have landed or are touched! I have quite the time watching and playing with these mystical orbs.

"Oh, hello there. What are you?"

"You are the bubbles! Hello bubbles!"

"I WANT YOU BUBBLES! PLEASE DO NOT LEAVE ME!"

"AAAHHH!"

"AAAAHAHAHAHA!"

"At what are you looking?"

Bully

I may not be the kindest of cousins to Cousin Hendrick. When he came over the other day, I spent a good portion of the time grabbing his shirt, shoving him, hitting his head, reaching over his shoulder to grab my toy (I would like to take a moment to emphasize that, in this instance, the toy was, after all, mine), or in any other way attempting to rip a toy of mine (again, MINE) from him. 

Occasionally, I can be kind, and give him some snuggles.

There was one time, however, that he attempted to be a rapscallion in return by grabbing me and throwing me to the ground, hitting my head on the ottoman on the way down. I got up and kept playing, but he started crying from the incident. Thus, I won, and, as always, celebrated with a scrunch face laugh.