The Mama went on a business trip, The Kidling went on vacation, and The Dada had Our House to himself.
Not a bad deal, really.
Upon The Family’s reunion, I asked The Dada how he enjoyed his time alone:
The Mama: (to The Dada) Did you like having a nice, quiet house?
The Dada: (nods)
Alice: Now there’s lot’s of chit-chat and stinky smells. (to The Mama) Toot in your own room!
Heh heh. Why, um… Kids say the darndest things…
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!
The Family had some conspicuous consumption to do this weekend (as discussed here), so we headed to the nearby outlet mall (and Costco, but that isn’t nearly as exciting).
As we were heading out of town, The Kidling asked where we were going. “The outlet mall,” we replied. But that wasn’t helpful.
She wanted names.
“Whartonville,” we told her, as we pulled into the parking lot. She said — No, she insisted — she had absolutely no idea what we were talking about. And she was adamant:
“I have not been here at all. Under any circumstances. At all.
(one minute elapses)
I remember I’ve been in this place, but I do not remember Whartonville.
(30 seconds elapse)
I do not remember this place at all. I can’t remember Whartonville.
(3 seconds elapse)
Now I remember it.”
Yeah, I bet you do. Stinker.
Whilst shopping this past weekend, The Kidling and I slipped into a handbag shop while The Dada was paying for a purchase at a nearby store. I looked at the offerings for a few minutes before telling The Kidling we needed to move on. My rationale being that, since we told The Dada we would meet him at J. Crew (yes, I am a yuppy), we had better actually be in J. Crew when he arrived, lest he worry.
Alice, however, took a different message from my declaration that it was time to leave the handbag store. She sighed, “You know how Dad is about girl things…”
Seeing as how I actually didn’t know how he is about girl things, I asked for clarification. “Dad would never have a purse!”
I guess he wouldn’t. But I didn’t realize she knew that.
Huh.
The Kidling loves to do that thing where she holds your hands, climbs up your legs, and flips over.*
So, we were doing that thing where she holds my hands, climbs up my legs, and flips over when suddenly she stopped. Turning to The Dada, Alice kindly told him, “I don’t want to do that with you, because you have that. (points in the general vicinity of his penis. Notice that she didn’t actually say the word “penis”? This is why.)“
Now, The Kidling can be described using any number of glowing adjectives. Brilliant. Funny. Gorgeous. Fast. Clever. Talented. Kind. Fabulous. Freaking amazing.
But careful? Empathetic? These are new. And for that, The Dada is grateful.
_______________________________________
* I’m fairly certain her affinity for doing that thing where she holds your hands, climbs up your legs, and flips over places her in a category that includes every other juvenile Homo sapiens who has ever dwelled on this planet.
The Kidling went cold turkey on napping about eight months ago.
It must have been peer pressure. They say pre-school is a bitch these days.
Since she gave up the mid-day snooze so long ago, we are prepared for the worst on those rare occasions when she actually does fall asleep: crabbiness, insomnia at bedtime, and just general unders-in-a-bunchedness.
But that didn’t happen Sunday. On this fine day, The Kidling asked to go to the playground around 5:00 pm. Since The Dada and The Mama accidentally skipped lunch (How? Hell if I know. But it happened), I told her no. It was too close to dinner, I told her, but we might go after. Pouting ensued. In an attempt to remedy the injustice, I offered to put on some music so she could have a dance party while I made dinner.
Yes, I am the best mom ever.
But The Kidling declined. I could barely hide my shock when she asked instead for “some quiet music.” I obliged, then headed to the kitchen to remedy the empty belly situation (otherwise known as “make dinner”). At one point I shouted into the living room something about going upstairs to get a book, to which, The Kidling replied, “No, I’d rather blah blah blah.” *
That sounded like a reasoned explanation, so I resumed chopping. Shortly thereafter, The Dada got home from his run and went into the living room to discover The Kidling sound asleep in a fort she had made in the chair. He attempted to wake her for dinner, but she was not to be roused from her slumber
So we ate alone while The Kidling got her brilliant sleep. ** Finally, much later, The Kidling stirred. She awoke a little out of sorts, so I decided to go to the park before we fed her dinner.
See? Best mom ever.
The evening progressed without incident. Park, dinner, then bedtime. The Kidling happily did all of the usual bedtime stuff, then climbed into bed and went to sleep.
Huh.
About an hour later, she stumbled out of her bedroom, bleary-eyed, and asked me to please make her bed. Her blanket and sheets had gotten quite tangled, and in her fatigue, she was unable to fix it herself. Or so she said. A pretty small deal, though, so I went ahead and fixed things up. Because she had three glasses of water at dinner time, so dangerously close to bedtime (bad idea), I asked her to please use the toilet while I straightened her tangled sheets.
I finished, then went into the bathroom to ensure The Kidling was doing what she had been asked to do. In yet another example of The Kidling surprising the hell out of me, she was, in fact, finishing up on the toilet and heading over to wash her hands. whilst making bubbles and suppressing a yawn, she turned to me and asked, “So, you guys doing anything fun downstairs?”
We weren’t. I told her as much, and she shuffled back into bed.
Perhaps we could get used to these little nap things again.
_________________________________________
* What?! I can’t catch every word out of her perfect Kidling mouth now, can I?
** Like beauty sleep, but better.
As in “wear.” Underwear.
This post might not be suitable for adolescent boys, my father, stepfather, or father-in-law.
Consider yourself warned.
The Mama has a fondness for fancy panties. Not to be confused with fancy pants, fancy panties are a clandestine indulgence for my comfort and general happiness. I am boring about said panties, and have exactly one style in two colors: black and nude.
Practical, no? I never said it was exciting.
The problem with my beloved, if practical, fancy panties is that I have a tendency to leave them on the floor. And I have a dog. Who has a tendency to chew on anything made of paper or fabric that she finds on or near the floor. And did I mention that I am cheap? While I obviously throw away anything that gets destroyed, I might or might not have a few pairs of fancy panties with a small hole.
The Mama is one classy lady.
Which brings me to this anecdote. I know you wondered where the hell I was going with this one. I was getting ready for work yesterday when The Kidling noticed a small hole near the waistband of my boring fancy panties.
“Mom, you have a hole in those,” she informed me.
I pretended I didn’t know it was there and thanked her onto pointing out the deficiency. She, in turn, offered some unsolicited advice: “Maybe you should throw them away so there isn’t a hole where you pee from.” *
Throw them away? Waste not, want not, girlie. Nice try.
____________________________________
* Which, by the way, was not actually the case. But it was darned funny.
