Pack Rat

What a difference a month makes!

Meg is growing up so fast. She starts school in two weeks. Her vocabulary is exploding. She sleeps in her own "big girl" bed. Potty training is done. Her tastes are turning from Disney Princesses (disturbing) to Alvin and the Chipmunks (annoying).

Oh, and she is turning into Navin R. Johnson.

You know, the Steve Martin character from '"The Jerk."

I'm not saying this because she was born a poor black child. I mean, the black part, yes, but her circumstances really don't qualify for less than "lower middle class."

I'm not saying this because she has a fascination with the phone book. Hell, I don't think she would know a phone book if it came up and bit her. We, like most Americans now take the phone book(s) straight from the porch to the recycling bin, stopping maybe to take off the crappy magnet on the front. Meg may eventually get excited about a school directory, but definitely not a phone book.

So, what is it about Meg that makes her so "Navinesque?"

She has to take everything with her.


Every morning, as Meg leaves the house, she picks up things she just can't do without. Why can't she do without them? Because she saw them as she was leaving the house.

Duh.

It started slowly at first.

A stuffed animal.

A blanket.

An extra pair of shoes.

A coloring book.

Then, before we knew it, Meg was heading out the door with two dolls, every stuffed bunny in the house, two pairs of princess high heels, three pacifiers, a box of fruit snacks, a DVD of "Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang" and a child sized plastic chair.

I like to think the chair is an homage to the movie.

This morning was a bit better, but her Dad still couldn't get her out without her musical stuffed seahorse, a kazoo, a magnifying glass, and several strands of Mardi Grad beads.

Now, I know some of think Meg must be taking these things with her because she wants to take a long the comforts of home as she heads out into the big, cold, cruel.

Yeah, no. We don't drop her off at the Greyhound station.

That "big, cold cruel world" is her grandmother's house -- otherwise known as the kid Hilton. Oh, and when she's not there she's with my aunt, otherwise known as the kid Hyatt. Seriously, what she is doing is like packing up the lamps at the Motel 6 so she has something to amuse herself while she's waiting for room service.

Maybe it's our fault. Ryan and I are notorious over packers. On our recent week long trip to Big Sur  we took three suitcases. No, we probably didn't need our scuba gear, but we were on the coast, and it is 2012, and you can't be too careful. Also, I packed all of those ziplock bags because you don't know what you might encounter outside of Utah. After all, in California they sell wine in the grocery store. 

Whatever the origin, I am hoping this "Jerk" phase leads to bigger and better things. A love of Cyrano perhaps, a love of art collecting, a devotion to bluegrass music, or maybe even several SNL hosting gigs. Hopefully not a love of movies that bring Bonnie Hunt from a feminist comic icon to a schlocky punch line.

And if none of those things happen?

Well, at least she isn't emulating "Smokey and the Bandit."