Cora, whom I think is the reincarnated soul of that Evil Knievel, loves "rides". This involves putting her in a laundry basket, and then swinging it like a single bucket theme park creation, powered by the parent. The faster, wilder, crazier or more disorienting you spin, the louder she giggles.
I folded laundry this morning. I was sitting in the chair, my feet surrounded by piles of neatly folded clothes when Cora plunked herself down in the laundry basket next to me. "I need ride." she said.
I looked at her. "I need ride." She repeated, then when I didn't move, "Please."
"Okay," I said, "Mom just needs to get her butt in gear." I sipped some coffee, thinking that rides were a lot more fun before Cora passed the 25 lb mark. It was considerably harder to safely swing around 30 lbs of child.
However, my daughter is no dumb bunny. She stood up, not giving up her laundry basket location, leaned over and in an amazed voice goes "WOAH!" slapping my still well padded abdomen. "You are big!" she enunciated beautifully. She then proceeded to make the left over baby fat jiggle in the most un-appealing way, pulling up my shirt to give a skin view.
She got laundry basket rides till my arms felt like falling off.