Emilia loves Hannah Montana. She’s not entirely sure who Hannah Montana is – she’s never seen the show or heard the music – but she knows that some of the older girls at school like her and that the boys don’t like her and that she has something to do with music and dancing and that’s good enough for her. She’s been composing odes to Hannah Montana, because she worries that Hannah might feel bad that boys don’t like her, which of course means that there would be far fewer people for Hannah to play with, hence the feeling bad, etc. It’s complicated. (continue reading…)

Emilia: “Mommy, I want to change my name.”

Me: “Oh?”

Emilia: “I want you to call me Hannah Montana Smarty Candygirl.”

Me: “Hannah Montana…?”

Emilia: “… Smarty Candygirl. That’s important.”

Me: “…?”

Emilia: “Candygirl because I like candy. Smarty because I’m smart. Not like the other Hannah Montanas. I’m the smart one, and I like candy. Hannah Montana. Smarty. Candygirl.”

Me: “… the other Hannah Montanas…?”

Emilia: “Actually, I don’t want to be called Hannah Montana.”

Me: “…?”

Emilia: “No, I don’t. So, Mommy. You can just call me Smarty Candygirl.”

Done and done, baby. Done and done.

Our household is still beset by the plague, but the children are greatly improved, my husband is no longer vomiting, and although I can still barely lift my head, I no longer feel that Charon is about to usher me across the River Acheron to Hades. Which, you know: WIN.