Lately Emma has developed a bad habit of screaming for me in whatever room she finds herself at the time. If we lived in a glorious rambler, this might not be a big deal. Unfortunately we lived in a three-storied townhouse, and the run to find out what the screaming about can be tiring. And so not worth the trip.
For example, two days ago. Mom! MOM! Emma was screaming upstairs and so I ran to find out what was the matter. Apparently she wanted help putting the shirt on her Belle doll. Emma got a lecture about how we don't yell over doll clothes.
Then there was the Mom! MOM! when it turned out that she was hungry and could I get her a fruit roll-up? For a million reasons, um, no, and we do not yell over fruit roll-ups.
The other morning I was trying to get breakfast ready and I heard what I thought was Mom! MOM! I ran upstairs (you'd think I'd learn) and discovered she had not yelled Mom! MOM! She was watching Little Einsteins and had yelled BLASTOFF after she pat, pat, patted because they told her to. Darn cartoon.