This is Vivi. Before I cut her bangs even more last week. (She said they were getting in her eyes and she wanted them shorter. She pointed to the middle of her “forthead” and I said, “No. I can’t go that short.)
Vivi was named Vivienne but “Vivi” seems to fit her far better at this stage in the game.
She also goes by Viv, WeeVee, Weave, WeeVeeCake and Spiderman.
When we were sitting on the airplane preparing to take off on Friday she took off her headphones and asked, “Are we going to blast off soon?”
Everyday is a birthday party for one of her babies: Baby Shirley (named after my Mom) or Happy (her bear).
She picked out an Incredible Hulk figurine after she got her vaccinations last month (because I reward pain with gifts) and then proceeded to invite him to said birthday parties. (He accepted.)
She calls him, “Benjamin Hulk.”
When she grows up she wants to be “Benjamin Hulk.”
She talks with her hands and sometimes we ask her more questions so that we can watch her peanut-sized hands fluttering back and forth rapidly supporting whatever tale she’s WeeVeeing.
She tells tales, too.
Not to be dishonest, per se, but because she understands the value of a good punchline, of a great joke, of a laugh.
So recently in our house we’ve had to start asking regularly, “Vivi, I’m going to give you another opportunity. Are you telling me the truth?”
There’s usually silence and a downcast face that quietly whispers, “…no…”
OR, there’s an enthusiastic, “I AM!” (Associated closely with more excited hand gestures.)
The first morning we woke up at Disneyland, still not having been to the parks yet, she popped out of bed and declared, “This is the best day ever.”
And nothing had even happened yet.
And that’s Vivi.