I'm R. Kelly and I'm the Sheriff

My three-year-old granddaughter is hilarious. (The nine-year-old is equally funny, but I'll write about her another time.) She was singing some sassy song, and at first I couldn't make out the words. Here's what I finally figured out she was saying:

"My name's Callie and I'm the sheriff, got my all cheer on my best. Ropin' and ridin' and makin' friends. Yippee Yiyo Cayay Eyaw. Some say I'm the best in the west." Or something like that. Of course, we all knew it was supposed to be "got my badge here on my vest" but she wouldn't have anything to do with that. And none of us had heard the song, so who were we to correct her? My youngest son sang along, but he wasn't allowed to sing any other words than the ones she believed to be the right ones. It didn't help that I kept asking her to sing the R. Kelly song. The song is the theme for some Disney Jr. show. I really think that she should record it; her version is much sassier than the real one, which we were all disappointed to find is a slow country version that doesn't pack much of a punch.

One night when my granddaughter was getting ready for bed my youngest son came out with a book in his hand. "Hey, Mom, Alina asked me to read this to her before bed." The book was Moral Politics by George Lakoff. I said, "Sure, go ahead." I like Lakoff well enough, but he could probably put a three-year-old to sleep. My next thought was that I really need to get some kids' books. But I'll hang onto that one for her. She may have a greater interest in it in a few years.

On the morning she, her sister, and her dad were leaving, my granddaughter and I were standing on my back porch together. I was telling her about a few things I planned to do with my yard and explaining that the guy who helped fix my gate was going to help me with some landscaping. She said, "That little boy is going to help you?" At first I couldn't figure out why she thought he was a little boy -- he's probably in his forties -- but then I realized that her dad, her uncles, and probably most of their friends are very tall, and because this man is short, she must have thought he was a kid. So I said, "He's not a little boy. He's a grown man." And for the rest of our conversation she referred to him as "that growing boy." Almost too adorable to stand.

If I can manage to insert a picture, there will one below of the sweetie-pie I've been talking about, doing one of her favorite things: eating a cupcake and making a big mess.