Tonight began like so:

Sophie: Can we play dolls? Please, please can we play dolls?

No. No, we cannot.

Instead, we took my globe off the bookcase and played the classic “spin it and point to a place” game. When the real globe got boring, we switched to Google Earth, and zoomed into Street View in each of the places Sophie picked. Thus we had a little world geography lesson combined with fancy computer graphics to occupy our imaginations.

Next we switched to my lunar globe and naturally started talking about how people have walked on the moon. This naturally lead to YouTube videos and footage from Apollo 13 of Saturn V liftoffs, men bouncing across an alien surface, and ocean splashdowns.

Tonight ended like so:

Sophie: (running down the hall with a kite in tow) 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… blast off!

Now we’re talkin’.

Sophie, upon waking up from a dream (in a matter-of-fact tone):

Do aliens come at night or in the morning?

Of course, everyone who’s seen the movie Aliens knows the answer. In Newt’s own words, “They mostly come at night… mostly.”

And now, a moment of terror brought to you by Sophie:

Sophie: There’s a butt on Mommy’s head and Daddy’s head!  Run for your lives!  Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

(30 seconds of complete silence)

Sophie: (deadpan) That was a close one.

It was like War of the Worlds for the modern era.

When we warned Sophie of her impending bath yesterday, she naturally protested.  Hoping to remind her that clean and conditioned hair is less tangled than dirty hair, this is the debate that ensued:

Sophie: (adamantly) I don’t want to take a bath!

Mommy: Do you want it to owie when I brush your hair tomorrow?

Sophie: (perfect deadpan) Yes.  I love owies.

(long pause while Mommy and I laugh uproariously)

Sophie: Well… maybe not…

It’s really difficult to compete logically with a four-year-old child who understands the power of sarcasm.

Only a child can instill a true feeling of unconditional love.  I had this conversation with Sophie when we woke up this morning:

Sophie: Don’t look at me!

Me: Why not?

Sophie:  Because I don’t love you a lot!  I only love you a little bit.

At least I’m still up for consideration.

Sophie keeps a picture on her desk of me reading her a story when she was about two years old.  The book featured was Nancy Hazbry’s How to Get Rid of Bad Dreams: a traumatic story offering graphic detail on a variety of bad dreams children might have, with advice on how to counter them.

For example, one page offers this sample of a delightful childhood lark:

If you dream you are being attacked by one-hundred-and-ninety-nine billion black, scary, hairy bugs with green eyes and red stingers, don’t worry.

All you have to do is…

An illustration of an enormous, hideous black ant fills the page.  Fortunately, by turning the page, the reader can find the solution to such a dream:

whip out a can of silver paint and spray it all over the bugs, then take a deep breath and blow them into the sky . That will make one-hundred-and-ninety-nine billion new glittering stars.

I found it rather disconcerting, but at the time Sophie was too excited to have me reading her a story to register any of its content.  Since then, the story has become legend in her world, and when I asked what story she wanted to read tonight, she announced “The Monster Book” as her preference.

Unfortunately, her collection of books is large, and The Monster Book was nowhere to be found.  I offered alternatives:

Me:  How about the Green Eggs and Ham book we read yesterday?

Sophie: I want The Monster Book!

Me: What about one of these new books you got for Christmas?

Sophie: I really want The Monster Book!

Me: Ooh!  You have The Princess and the Frog! You loved that movie!  Should we read this book?

Sophie: (fake tears pouring out) I really want The Monster Book!

We searched through her bookcase, one book  at a time.  She even insisted that we consult the picture of me reading it last time to be sure we’d recognize it today.  About halfway through her collection, we found it.

She jumped eagerly into bed (one of the few times this has ever happened), and curled up to hear the legendary story, her level of excitement waning with each frightening new scenario.

And when I turned the last page, she sat silent for a moment.  And then:

Sophie: (incredulously) Why did you read me The Monster Book?  Now I’m gonna have bad dreams!

As a software developer — essentially a trained logician — I really can’t formulate a good rebuttal to that.

Sophie just discovered Enchanted, the 2007 Amy Adams movie in which a cartoon character is transported to the real world.

Her thoughts when she saw the animated princess transformed into an actress?

Mommy, you put your movie inside my movie!  Now it’s a Sophie movie and a Mommy movie!

You got animation on my live action!  You got live action on my animation!

I’m really beginning to like the nights that I lie down early and hear Sophie’s nighttime routine happening in the other room without seeing anything.  Tonight, Mommy walked out to check on her and I just heard this:

Take off the purse.  Take off the poodle.  Take off the backpack.  Take off the horses.

The purse and the backpack I get, but I’m afraid to ask how she was wearing a poodle and two or more horses.

After a delicious dinner at Zoe’s last week, we took Sophie through the Harvard campus on our way back home.  She was unimpressed at first, barring some occasional questions to confirm that we were visiting a college, that colleges are where people get smart, and that she can go to one once she’s bigger.

Her interest grew, however, upon seeing the towering steps of the Widener Library.  She lept from her stroller and bounded up to the top in seconds.  “I want to stay here!” she announced when she got back to the bottom, and shot right back up again.  When she tired of those steps, she sat in the stroller only long enough to cross the yard to another building with fun stairs, and then another.

It was a great outing, though I joked at the time that we might have inadvertently taught her that colleges are places with a lot of stairs.

Tonight, we took a trip to White Mountain Creamery in Brighton for some ice cream, and strolled through the Boston College campus on our way home.  (Campuses tend to be tranquil places when not overrun by students.)  The moment she heard the name of the place, she asked, excitedly:

Can we look to see if Boston College has any steps?

Come to think of it, I do remember walking up a lot of flights of steps while I was in college.  Maybe she’s on the right track!