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.
The Kidling has a terrific imagination. She makes up great stories and we have copious amounts of fun being generally ridiculous. While she occasionally lacks variety — Every song lyric she has ever composed includes the line, “I don’t know what to do.” Given that The Kidling sings an original composition on a near-daily basis, I hear that line an awful lot — her m.o. is funny, thoughtful, silly, outlandish tales.
And I like it.
Because sometimes, I get to hear things like this:
Alice: I’ve been calling myself Alexandra.
The Mama: (slightly surprised) Oh? Where?
Alice: In stories.
The Mama: Stories that you tell yourself?
Alice: Yeah. Stories in my head. Stories [that] I don’t even say them quietly.
The Mama: That’s neat, Alice. Can you tell me about them?
Alice: I don’t want to tell you. I want to keep them to myself.
The Mama: Sure, Sweetie. I understand.
Alice: (tells me anyway) Alexandra is a superhero! And Jack Frost! When Jack Frost came to town, then I wasn’t the favorite superhero any more. I have Jack Frost Power! (throws fist into the air) And Santa power! And sleigh power! And Rudolph power, too!!
It’s a damn good thing The Kidling got all those powers. I might have let them go to my head.
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.
“I bet the reason ‘suckers’ are called ‘suckers’… um… I bet the reason ‘suckers’ are called ‘suckers,’ is because we suck on them. That’s my hypothesis!”
-Alice Munchkin Kidling
December 3, 2012
Late last week, The Kidling asked for more details about Thanksgiving. Typical questions regarding the giving of thanks, the cause for celebration, and no mention of genocide made for an atypically easy answer to her question.
Whew.
I know what you’re thinking, smug dear readers.
“Not so fast, Christine,” you are silently urging your computer/ipad/smart phone screens. “Nothing is ever as it seems with The Kidling. Haven’t you learned anything by being her mother for the last four and three-quarters years?”
The answer, dear readers, is no.
As my conversation with Alice regarding Thanksgiving came to a close, she changed the topic to food. That’s safe, right? Right!?!
Have you met my child?
When the menu discussion turned to turkey, Alice offered, “Whenever you feel like eating a turkey that’s already dead, let’s make it!”
Such enthusiasm. For carrion.
So much for my guilty omnivore.
Alice: What happens if our car runs out of all its gas?
The Mama: We would walk to get some gas and bring it back to the car.
Alice: No. we would push the car.
The Mama: You think? It would take all three of us pushing.
Alice: Yes. And someone to pull. Peter. I assume Peter is the strongest one in our family. Then Dad will get out of the car and get us gas. We’ll say thanks to those two friends that helped.
“I don’t love everyone the same amount because I want to save room for food. I don’t love everyone the same amount because I want to save room for food and the other stuff that goes in my body.”
-Alice Munchkin Kidling
September 30, 2012
