Detective-in-Training

Jarrah seems to be developing some freaky powers of observation. Or maybe she always had them, but we didn't know about it when she couldn't talk. Lately, I've been amazed by what she notices and remembers.

Yesterday, we were at my parents house, and I took Jarrah into my mom's den to put her pajamas on. She leaned against an arm chair and murmured, "Cherry Valley." I laughed. "You're right, Jarrah, it does look like Cherry Valley in here." Cherry Valley is where we stayed in Ohio, and like the den, it has dark, floral carpet, dark wood furniture, and cozy chairs. This made me remember that when we first arrived at Cherry Valley, which is white with flowers in front, she proclaimed, "Grandma-Grandpa's house!" Granted, there was some size differential, but I could see what she meant.

Jarrah got a present from her grandmother during our visit: a pair of lime-green Crocs. We are late to the party with Crocs, so I'm sure my educated readers already have several pairs, but just in case, they look like plastic clogs with big holes cut out of them. My mom presented Jarrah with the Crocs, and without hesitation, Jarrah yelled, "Hannah!" Ha! Jarrah's friend Hannah has some orange Crocs. I believe Jarrah has seen Hannah three times in her Crocs, and not more recently than May, but clearly she made a fashion statement. Jarrah was thrilled about her new "Crops," and insisted on wearing them out to dinner.

We went to a party at Robyn's a couple weeks ago, where Jarrah spotted a lunchbox shaped like a football amongst Jared's toys. "Ruben!" she shouted. "Ruben?" I repeated. Hmmm. Jarrah has a Ruben friend at preschool. Now he is going to camp with her. I approached his mom last week during pick-up time, as she was extracting a non-sports-themed lunchbox from her son's cubby. "Does Ruben have a lunchbox shaped like a football?" "Yup." "I think it made quite an impression on Jarrah."

The most mortifying instance of Jarrah's keen eye thus far occurred a few weeks ago at the FCC Kite Festival. We were watching a magician do some incredible tricks with bubbles, when suddenly Jarrah said to me, "I get your purse, Mommy, okay?" "Hmmm?" I said, distracted by the show, and the fact that there is often a two-second delay in my translation of Jarrah's sentences. But it was too late, and I was compelled to watch as Jarrah sprinted over to a lady I do not know, forcibly pulled her faux-Pucci-print Le Sport Sac from her shoulder, and headed back to me. Now, I admit that this is a distinctive bag; I get comments on it nearly every day. But what amazed me is that this lady's purse was not merely a similar print, or similar colors, but the exact same bag. Ergo, from Jarrah's perspective, it must be mine, and should therefore be restored to me post haste. I dashed over to intercede, relieved that the theft victim was extremely good-humored, even going so far to unzip her bag and display the contents, so Jarrah could satisfy herself that nothing more criminal than cloning had taken place.

I'll tell you, though, Readers, these incidents have made me a little paranoid about my everyday habits and behaviors. I had heard, of course, to curb my profanity lest I hear it repeated in a tiny voice, and I try to avoid shooting heroin in front of her, but I hadn't counted on a budding private eye living under my roof. No eating Hostess Sno Balls for us. No watching The Bachelor. No fudging on our taxes. Someone is paying attention.