Mini-Me

As Bryn nears three years old, I'm constantly taken with how many of my words and idiosyncrasies are telegraphed back to me like SONAR or something. I hear plenty of Beau in Bryn's words, too, particularly when she's pretending to be on the phone.

Yesterday, Bryn and I went to the grocery store while Beau was out working cattle. She is an AWESOME helper when properly rested. Cart selection is a big deal at our grocery store. There are carts that have working radios (at $1 per visit--only used once, but still a temptation), regular carts, little carts that Bryn can push but that don't hold very much, and the find-of-all-finds the cart built to look like a race car. The race car carts are such commodities that they have their own covered parking out in the parking lot--strategically placed by the "Customers with Children" parking. The wise people at HEB have it ALL figured out.

We apparently were due some good fortune because there was a red race car cart with our name all over it--totally out of place in the normal "cart corral" right by my normal parking space. So Bryn carefully buckled into her seat and commenced to "drive" all through the grocery store.

I was searching for a package of ground beef with a tolerable amount of fat mixed in (I'm really a 90% lean kind of gal regardless of application), when I hear Bryn (leaning over the edge of her "car") saying, "I want a cheeseburger, fries, and a milk....white milk." I must have chuckled audibly because she offered, over her shoulder, "I'm pretending. I take it home." By the time we made it to dairy, she was leaning out punching all manner of imaginary buttons. I asked what she was pretending now.

"I have to go to the bank," she said.

Is it wrong for a three-year old to know how to use an ATM?