This post is for archival purposes only.
April 13, 2013. Crabby day. An apology from Mama to Kidling at snuggle time.
Alice: I always forgive you.
The Mama: We’ll see about that.
Alice: Even when I’m a teenager, if you do mistakes I will forgive you.
The Mama: Okay. I’m going to remind you of that.
Alice: Thank you!
You might recall that dinner time can be a struggle at The Kidling’s house.
What’s that you say? You weren’t aware of that? You thought The Kidling was a perfect angel who sits politely at the table, eats every vegetable The Mama places in front of her, chews with her mouth closed, sits still, eats until she is full, thanks me for the delicious meal, asks to be excused, then clears her plate without being asked? Let me remedy that misconception.
As I wasn’t really saying. Dinner time + The Kidling = Struggle.
I hope you are paying attention, because there will be a quiz… if I can ever get around to finishing this story.
The Family’s dinner time rules—that eating and conversation are the only two activities acceptable for executing during meal time—are frequently ignored. More often, though, they aren’t ignored, exactly. No, the balance is just disproportionately skewed toward chatter.
Lots and lots of chatter.
Chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter.
So one evening in mid-January when The Kidling paused her dinner, fork in hand, to tell me what was going through her head, I wasn’t at all surprised by the interruption
What did surprise me, though, was what was going through her head. On this evening, Alice told me, ”I’m never going to point this at you. I’m never ever going to kill you. I never want to be a pirate… but I do want to find gold! I’m not going to steal it, though.”
At least she knows her limits.
I might have mentioned The Kidling’s hoarding difficulty detaching from material things a time or two before. Given her attachment((s) (many attachments)), I have been known to sneak inconsequential things into the appropriate container for disposal or recycling under the cloak of night. Sometimes I get caught, but more often than not, my clandestine purges go undetected.
Thank god kids tucker out early.
And yet, the urge to keep, keep, keep is steadfast. The Kidling recalls artwork created many moons ago, and asks for it once a fortnight.
No, I have no idea how long a fortnight is, and I refuse to google it. It’s just funnier that way.
Wednesday night, Alice asked about a page from a coloring book she colored very long ago. It was a picture of a cat that she colored in October 2010. That’s right, a full 15 months ago, making The Kidling a whopping 3.75 years old when she took crayon to paper. But she remembers this particular creation for a reason.
When our beloved first child dog died, Alice colored this cat picture for her. Not necessarily logical, as Esti had no known affinity for cats, but awfully sweet regardless. When Alice decided the picture should be buried with our dear Esti as a gift, we were more than happy to comply. It was Alice’s last chance to do something nice for the dog we all loved so.
Fifteen months later, that cat picture hadn’t again crossed The Kidling’s mind. Until Wednesday. Wednesday night as I tucked Alice into bed, her eyes filled with tears.
“I want my cat picture,” she lamented.
Somehow, I knew the cat picture to which she was referring. And I knew things were going to get ugly. But I crossed my fingers and hoped I was wrong. “Which cat picture, Alice?” I asked, hoping for any answer but the one I knew I would hear.
“The picture I colored for Esti,” she cried, becoming more forlorn with each passing moment, “The one we buried with her.”
“Oh, Sweetheart,” I told her, attempting to reframe the conversation, ”It was so kind of you to color that picture for Esti. I am so glad you decided to share it with her.”
No dice.
This time, wailing, she cried out, “But I want it back!”
“I know you do, Alice, but we shared it with her.”
“But I want it! I want my cat picture.”
“Alice,” this time, firmly, “That cannot happen.”
“Whhhhhyyyyyyy??”
“Alice, how ever would we get it back?”
And that, Dear Readers, was my strategic error, for I couldn’t possibly have anticipated the response:
“Well, we could dig a big hole and—”
No, child. We will not exhume our dog for a piece of paper. Case closed.
Sometimes Often, The Kidling is wiser than I wish she were expect. I mean, I am glad she is the most phenomenal human being I have ever encountered and could ever hope to interact with in this lifetime, but seriously. Can’t The Mama get away with something now and then? Case in point: doing odd things in odd places.
As you might have guessed, this wee blog is powered by many strategically placed notebooks. I have been known to make a dash for them in the middle of dinner, frantically yank them from my handbag whilst running errands, and enter near-panic mode when I cannot locate a notebook when genius or hilarity has recently ensued.
Thank goodness for the backs of cash register receipts.
So The Mama thought nothing of my recent perch for jotting down The Kidling’s most recent flash of brilliance. Until…
Alice: Are you going potty?
The Mama: Yeah.
Alice: While you’re writing!?!
The Mama: Yeah. Isn’t that weird?
Alice: Yeah. And kind of gross.
The Mama: You think?
Alice: Yeah.
A better blogger than I might ask for your input. “What say you, dear readers?” or a similar question to solicit your thoughts on matters related to this particular story. But guess what? I don’t care. Because without frantic scrawling in marker on construction paper, in pencil on gum wrapper, and in the occasionally properly-placed notebook, the book of alice wouldn’t exist.
So there.
And yes, I wash my hands.
You know you bought the wrong size leotard for gymnastics when your child tells you, moments before leaving for class, “Mom, this one is hurting my labia.”
Next stop: Target.
The Kidling is afraid of the dark. No big surprise there. Many kidlings of the lowercase variety are. She has myriad ways with which she copes with her fear, the most common one being yelling at the top of her lungs, ‘Mommy, I’m afraid! Mommy, I don’t like the dark! Mommy, I’m scared!’ ten times in a row while contorting her face and flailing her arms about.
Apparently she also has some more productive strategies. The Dada was upstairs the other night when Alice peered up the staircase. A light was on at the top of the stairs, but the staircase was dark. Though dark, she decided to proceed. Upon locating her father, Alice told him, “I found you by the shadows. I don’t like the word penis.”
As you might have guessed, The Dada had nothing to say to that.
Recently, Alice has taken a liking to a game she calls “Beauty Shop.” The game is simple: The Mama (or The Dada) sits perfectly still, The Kidling yanks a comb through my (or his) hair forever several minutes, and expects me (or him) not to cry real tears of pain.
Sometimes, barrettes are involved. Other times, it is just scalp torture.
The game ends when Alice declares her work a success, using some positive adjective related to our physical appearance. Beautiful… Lovely… Gorgeous…
Or bird-like?
Alice was doing my hair for a pretend wedding one fine December day when she began to speak in anticipation of the fruits of her labor:
“You’re going to look beautiful! You look like a red booby! You look like a brown booby! You look like a blue-footed booby!”
The resemblance, dear readers, is uncanny.
The Kidling has a strong grasp of the English language.
You’ve probably noticed.
She took to speaking at a tender age and increased her vocabulary faster than— faster than— a speeding bullet? too cliché… Faster than a BMW on the autobahn? no. too racy… Faster than The Mama races for her pen when The Kidling says something funny? just right!
As a result of her love of words, I am occasionally surprised by their misuse. Remember, this is the child who knew that adverbs ended in ”-ly” and therefore created a double adverb by changing ”well” to “well-ly.” See what I mean?
This story involves a tree and another pesky adverb. I found an unused anecdote from one of my many notebooks of alice last night. On this particular late autumn day, The Kidling observed several leafless trees and commented, “The trees kind of look deadly right now.”
One tiny change, and my vision of a lovely late fall day morphed into this:
This is one seriously deadly tree.
(www.farandfurther.com)
