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For those who follow my sporatic excessive blogging habits, you might have noticed that I set up two paparazzi/Abigael sites: Abbyrazzi and Abirazzi.

Why? Good question.

Five and a half years ago, Kerry and I named the best person we know 'Abigael.' It was a name that wasn't really on our moniker radar but the night that we brought her home, we tried it out on her and it seemed to work. We went for a slightly non-traditional spelling simply because we thought it looked cool -- but decided that she would be Abby to the rest of the world because (a) it's cute and (b) there would still be a chance that we could find some personlized dollar-store garbage for her in the future. We were really thinking ahead about the important stuff!

Fast forward about five years. Our little Miss is growing up just fine thank you very much -- either because or inspite of us. And one day she declared that from now on, she would be 'Abi' and not 'Abby" (though she would still like to be 'Abby J' at school to counterbalance the presence of 'Abby L.')

I've been preparing for the days when everything I do is wrong and everything she does is right. In my mind, I know there will be a time when the best person I know will think that I am the worst person she knows. I know that she has a mind of her own and that the only constant in her big little world is change. But I didn't expect those 'changes' to start so soon.

So... okay. Abby is 'Abi.' And from now on this will be the home of my daughter's stalker photographers -- even if the picture-maker happens to be... Abi.

The Morality of Cheating

It must be tough to be five-and-a-half years old. I personally don’t remember but Abi is here to remind me that there are more than physical growing pains to contend with in this world.

Often before bed, Abi and I will play cards. Uno is a favourite. Though the game is meant for players aged seven-plus, she doesn’t know that and she legitimately wins half of the time. She understands the rules and you can see her strategize her wins. It’s brilliant to watch her scheme and shark. She can even add up the value of the cards that she leaves everyone else holding. Math at age five! I’m still using my fingers to calculate how many days are left before the weekend.

Another game we have been playing is ‘Go Fish!’ The rules are simple. You are dealt seven cards. You can ask your opponent if they have any of a specific card that you already have in your hand. (“Do you have any Jacks?”) If they are holding any number of that particular card, they must hand all of them over and the receiving player gets to ask for more cards. If your opponent doesn’t have any, they might say, “No. Go Fish!” and you would draw a card from the slush pile. When all the cards are gone, whoever has the most sets of four wins!

Last night Abi and I are Fishing and she asks, “Do you have any Jacks Daddy?” I hand over the three that I have in my hand. She says “Thank you” and slides them into her hand. Then she asks, “Do you have any eights?”

“Wait. Why don’t you take the Jacks out of your hand so you don’t have to hold all of those cards? I ask.

“’Cause I only have three of them.”

If this were anyone else, I would accuse him or her of cheating. I might assume that someone else figured out that I was collecting Jacks and just wanted to get them out of my hand. But this was Abi.

“That’s not how you play the game Abi. You know that. You know that you can only ask for the cards that are already in your hand, don’t you?”

“I know,” she said with her head tilted down but her big blue eyes looking back up at me. “I’m sorry I cheated.”

I don’t think she cheated. I think she really did forget the rules. And I made sure she understood that. We ended the game (she won) and I tucked her in and said good night. Before I left her room, she asked to see Mama.

Upstairs, Abi told Kerry that she had cheated playing cards and that she was so sorry and that she was worried I was disappointed in her.

Wow. How could I ever be disappointed in this little girl? She has more moral fiber in her five-and-a-half years old body than pretty much everyone else I know – combined.

It must be tough to be five-and-a-half years old. But it’s tougher not being five-and-a-half years old.