My 5 Year Old’s Artwork
My 5 year old is really into drawing and coloring lately, in all its eccentric wonder. It’s still difficult for him to stay within the lines, but it’s amazing to watch whatever’s jumbled in his head come out through a pen.
Archive for the ‘The Kids’ Category
Kids Don’t Lie
Kids don’t lie. I think all mothers can attest to their child’s blunt honesty up to a certain age. They have yet to learn how to take other’s feelings into consideration, so they answer the only way they can. It’s a part of the magnificent innocence associated with youth.
I know that if I ever want a true opinion of how I look on any given day, I just need to ask Jedi. At 8, he’s still as brutally honest as they come. Never does he miss a chance to tell me that he doesn’t like how I fixed my hair or if my breath doesn’t smell so pleasant. He’s caring, that way.
He’s not the only one, however. Buzz has openly stated his opinion on the freckles on my face and his grandfather’s white hair.
Neither of them tell it like it is like Abby, however. 3 years old is a ripe age for curiosity. And honesty. When her grandpa goes in for a kiss when she doesn’t want it, she thinks nothing of pushing him away. “I’m not talking to you”, she’ll inform whomever when she’s not in the mood. “You’re big”, with a scrunched nose is another favorite. And we won’t get into what she says when she watches me in the shower.
The other day when my parents were over for a visit, she followed her grandma into the bathroom. I heard them giggling a bit long after they were done. When they emerged, it seems my mom had a taste of her candor.
“Your daughter told me I had a big butt”, my mother repeated, utterly shocked.
To which my dad, snapping quickly in laughter, “Well, you know little kids don’t lie”.
And apparently, neither does my father. I guess honesty runs in the family.
Fight for Your Right to Awesome
January 24 2012 Jedi had just finished showing off his newest feat of awesomeness when he looked at me for recognition. Not offering it fast enough or with the required amount of enthusiasm, he took the matter into his own hands.
“Why didn’t you say anything about what I just did? Did you even pay attention?”, he interrogated, already perfecting his irritation and angst.
“Oh, sorry. It was awesome”, I praised half-heartedly, snapping out of whatever daydream I was finding myself in.
Clearly noticing my indolent disregard, a problem that he will most likely delve into during therapy sessions later in life along with the overwhelming confusion that can come with an ounce of fake praise, Jedi sulked before continuing. I swear I could see him kick his feet, “You didn’t mean that. You’re not supposed to say that, anyway.”
Pretending to be annoyed, I defended, “Yes, I did mean it. It was awesome. Wait, what am I not supposed to say?”.
“Awesome. You can’t say that word. You’re not allowed.”
“Why am I not allowed to say ‘awesome’?”
“Because it’s not a word for girls”, he said. And then, “Only boys can say awesome.”
That’s not awesome. Awesome is a descriptive word for so many occasions. I would be lost without awesome. Like Jedi, he’s awesome. And you know I’ve been saying awesome as much as possible, even more than usual. Because I’m a girl and girls are awesome. Awesome does not discriminate.
Sleeping Super
The Incredible Hulk. Spiderman. Iron Man. Captain America. Wolverine.
I have a 5 year old boy who wants to be a superhero.
He spends his days hulk smashing and climbing invisible spiderwebs in an effort to save the world. People in his pictures are colored green, blue, and red. In the bath, he’ll take his shampoo-lathered hair and stretch it into Wolverine-inspired side horns. Over the years, he has acquired a collection of super alter egos, each with it’s own distinctive look and plastic freeze-framed mask to match. He changes in and out with the speed of Superman. His imagination is nothing if not wild.
Even when it shouldn’t be.
“Put the Incredible Hulk on for bed”, Buzz insisted within moments of turning the sheets down for the night, his feet fighting for footing in the green and purple faux-muscled fabric disguise.
“No, we’re not wearing that to bed. You know you need to wear your pajamas”, I told him. Because even superheroes take off their mask for a good night of rest. My pleas were only met with encouragement, however, as his little sister helped fasten the closures in the back. The trusty sidekick.
Suffice to say, he wore the Incredible Hulk to bed. And the world slept a little safer.
But at least he took off the mask.
Enabling
My daughter was snacking heartily from a bag of cheddar Goldfish crackers. This after complaining she was hungry, even though she had just finished lunch. That girl can eat. She reached in, fishing for another. Kindly, she offered it to me.
“You hungry, Mommy?”, Abby asked.
“No, thank you. You can eat those, they’re for you”, I said.
Abby was unsatisfied with my answer, however. She continued standing before me stoically, searching my facial expressions for any signs of impending weakness. Surely, my mind would change. My daughter was determined to give me a damn cracker. A 3 year old enabler.
“Fine”, I relented. “I’ll take just one. But only one.” Because there’s always room for at least one Goldfish.
“OK, just one”, my daughter cheered, opening the bag wide enough to fit her head inside. Then, a single cheesy cracker fish swam into the palm of my hand. And then another.
Those fish, they just kept swimming uncontrollably.
Before I knew it, I was holding on to a handful of small orange Goldfish, with a little girl pushing more into my mouth. When I clearly remember specifying I only wanted one. Just one. The magnificent powers of persuasion. Not to mention a really cute kid. Then, half the bag was gone. How does that happen?
