Hi there.  Emma again.  I understand that my guest posts on Mommy’s blog have earned me some loyal fans.  (Is the word “minions” appropriate yet?  Too soon?) So to all of you out there: THANK YOU for showing me the love. Kiss kiss.

But on a more serious note, being a celebrity comes with great responsibility.  I feel the need to give back. To the little people.  (Diapered and undiapered.) So today I give you the most precious gift I have.  Wisdom.  That’s right.  This girl has learned a thing or two in her (almost) two trips around the sun. So, here it is. Emma’s words to live by. Today I answer the question that is (no doubt) always vexing you: What. Would. Emma. Do?

Let’s start with negotiations.  You want something.  But you don’t know quite how to get it.  We’ve all been there.  Half the time I ask for something, Mommy *pretends* she doesn’t understand me.  (Honestly, Mommy, don’t you think you’re being a bit childish?)  In fact, just the other day, THIS happened . . .

Me: Mommy! Cado.

Mommy: Cake?  Emma we don’t have any cake.

Me: CADO.

Mommy: You want your blanket?

Me: CAAAAAADO.

Mommy:  Emma, I don’t know what you are asking for.

Me (Screaming.  Because sometimes that’s the only way she learns): CAAAAAAAAAADO.

Mommy: I’m sorry Emma.  I really don’t know what you want.

What we have here is a communication breakdown.  I’m VERY CLEARLY communicating my needs.  But, Mommy is VERY CLEARLY not trying hard enough to understand them.  Rude, woman.  Just rude.  What Mommy needs is a bit more motivation.  Pay close attention, people.  Because I’m about to introduce you to a sophisticated technique.  It should only be used when absolutely necessary.  (Side bar: if you are between the ages of two and four, it will be absolutely necessary OFTEN.  For some reason, parents of toddlers tend to withhold basic necessities such as cookies, crackers, and the toy that you really, really, really want to play with even though it– irrelevant data– happens to be owned by someone else.  WHAT GIVES?)

So, here it is.  Emma’s Patented Win-The-Negotiation-Technique . . . Throw yourself down on the floor.  Pound the ground with your fists.  And kick your feet.

You’ll get your point across.

Mommy: Emma, you’re having a tantrum.  Do you want a hug?

Don’t give in people.  DON’T. GIVE. IN.  You give in once and they’ll just continue with this clearly unacceptable hug-offering behavior.  Sucker move.  And Emma’s first rule of negotiations is: DON’T BE A SUCKER.

Mommy: Okay.  I’ll be right over there if you need me.

I. DON’T. NEED. YOU. WOMAN.  I.  NEED.  CADO!

Two minutes pass.

Hmm.  Weird.  I’m feeling a bit calmer now.  That’s odd.  I’m not even that bothered by the fact that Mommy never gave me . . . DANG. WHAT THE HELL WAS IT I WANTED??  Oh, this is embarrassing.

Mommy: Emma, do you want a hug now?

Hold me.

Mommy:  Wait . . . Emma, were you asking for some avocado??

YES.  HA!  That’s it!

And that is what I call CLOSING THE DEAL people.  Read and learn.  Read and learn.

Okay, moving on.  Now let’s talk about letting people know who calls the shots.  I’ve noticed that many parents suffer from a rather unfortunate misunderstanding.  They believe that they are in control.  (Hilarious, am I right?!?)  Fellow toddlers, bring it in.  And listen to my words.  It is ABSOLUTELY CRITICAL that you let your parents know who is in charge.  Do not feel badly about this.  You are doing them a FAVOR.  Because once they figure this out it will save EVERYONE a lot of time.  And energy.  And cleaning up of milk that they FORCE US to spill all over the floor during a tantrum caused by not giving into our demands.  I mean, requests.

Okay, so here’s what I do.  I have a Mommy and a Daddy. Sure, they have their charms.  Blah, blah, blah.  But I make sure they realize, that they serve at MY whim.  (Kind of like the secretary of state.  Whatever that is.)  I like Daddy to get me up in the morning. He just has more of a get-up-in-the-morning feel to him. Maybe because of his caffeine addiction.  (I try not to overthink it.  I don’t want to ruin the mystery.)  But sometimes when I am ready to get up– which I indicate with my adorable stream of consciousness chatting– Mommy comes for me.  OH HELLS NO, WOMAN.  Do you LOOK like Daddy?  Do you JIBBER JABBER TO ME IN JAPANESE like Daddy?  Do you wear a SNUGLY SWEATSHIRT THAT I CAN BURROW MY FACE INTO like Daddy?  No, No, and NO.  So GET OUT OF MY ROOM UNTIL YOU TURN INTO DADDY.

Mommy can sometimes be a bit thick about this.

Mommy: Emma, Daddy’s sleepy.  It’s Mommy’s turn to get you up today.

Me (madly waving and, if necessary, pushing Mommy away): DADDY.  DADDY. DAAAADDDY!!!!

Mommy: Do you want me to bring you downstairs and make you a banana?

Okay, first of alls.  MAKE me a banana?  I realize that cooking is a foreign language to you but peeling and chopping is not MAKING anything.  And second, unless that is a MAGIC banana that will turn you into Daddy: The. Answer. Is. Still. NO.

But here’s the thing.  After Daddy FINALLY comes in and gets me (really people, was that SO hard?), and gives me breakfast, I want . . . what was it again . . . oh, right: MOMMY. I hear her moving around upstairs.  And taking a shower.  And I want her. Downstairs. NOW.

Me: Mooooooooommy.

Eventually– like THREE YEARS LATER– she comes down.  I run to her.  Why has she stayed away so long.  It is cruel, really.

Me: MOOOMMY!!!

Mommy: Emma, can Daddy just hold you for a minute while I make myself some breakfast?

I nuzzle my adorable, fuzzy head into Mommy’s shoulder.  (Go ahead, people, and let out one of these if you have to: Awwwww.)

Emma: NO! Mommy.

Mommy then holds me in one hand while she makes herself breakfast with the other.  Suh-weet.  I make sure Mommy knows how much I love her by throwing my little arms around her neck.  And hugging her.  And kissing her cheek.  Until right around the time that Daddy thinks he’s going to go upstairs and take a shower.  “DAAAADDDDDDY!”

Calling.  The.  Shots.

Okay, peeps, I think that’s enough life-changing-wisdom for one day.  I don’t want to overwhelm you.  Oh, and of course, YOU’RE WELCOME.