Archive for the ‘The Kids’ Category
Abby was sitting in her highchair while I went about the task of finding a suitable selection for our lunch. She had a pair of pink flip flops on her feet, grabbed from under my nose out of the closet and refused to let go, but kicked them off as Jedi passed by on his quest to pick up toys. He stopped in front of her for a minute’s distraction and retrieve her freshly discarded shoes. He’s a great big brother, that kid.
“Do you want your shoes, Abby?”, he asked his sister, holding them within her reach.
Pushing them and his hand away, she answered pointedly, “No!”.
He put the shoes back in the closet instead then came up to me as I was stirring noodles on the stove. “She’s learning how to answer questions yes or no”, Jedi said, impressed in his little sister’s growing abilities.
“Yes, she is”, I replied
Then, without missing a beat, “Yeah, but she mostly says no.”
Yes, she does.
June 18 2010 ·
12 CommentsPosted in:
The Kids · Tags:
Abby,
good,
life The night before last, after I had been with Buzz putting him to bed, I came out to find a band-aid on Abby’s finger. It seems she had her first papercut, inflicted as she was ripping pages out of a book.
“Mommy! Boo-boo!”, she exclaimed as we made our way in to bed. I looked at it, immediately deeming the band-aid unnecessary, and thought of taking it off. She seemed content with it there, however, so I decided instead to wait until morning.
When we awoke the next morning, I pulled the small bandage from her skin. There was a sliver of a slice in the crease of her small index finger. It clearly didn’t bother her anymore, as she trotted off to play and didn’t make another mention of it for the rest of the day.
That is, until J came home from work later.
As soon as she saw him walk through the door, her first reaction was to hold out her hand and sensationally announce, “Daddy! Boo-boo! Finfer!”. Little Miss Drama Queen brought this suddenly reawakened nick to his attention a few other times throughout the night as well. Then, as I came out again after putting Buzz to bed, I noticed another band-aid on the same finger. Covering the same papercut. “What? She wanted it”, he told me in his defense.
Now a band-aid, next a pony. He can try to deny it all he wants, and he does, but someone has him wrapped around her little bandaged finger. “It doesn’t work on me”, he’s been known to say with a tough exterior. Obviously, though, it very much does.
“Is Grey Kitty going to die?”
This is what Jedi asked me the other morning. My first instinct was to immediately search for our cat, to make sure he was still in good health. I’m not Kitty’s biggest fan, but we’ve had him for 12 years. We picked him and his brother, which we creatively named Orange Kitty, up as kittens when J and I first moved in together. Orange Kitty passed away a few years back.
“Um, sometime, yes”, I replied carefully.
“What will happen when he dies?”
At this point, I was preparing myself for a grand tale about running free on a farm with all of our other deceased pets from over the years. I thought it might be time for a deep discussion of God and heaven and heavier questions of spirituality and mortality for a 6 year old. I paused briefly, treading lightly into intense territory. I also considered apologizing to Grey Kitty for discussing his death when he was very much alive.
“Well, he’ll go to kitty heaven”, I told him as an initial step. I figured he’d surely have more questions where we could elaborate and delve further into the circle of life.
“OK”, he said in turn. “But what I meant was, if Kitty dies can we get a dog?”
June 11 2010 ·
9 CommentsPosted in:
The Kids · Tags:
conversation,
Jedi,
life There was a group of kids riding their bikes past our driveway. Their ages ranged and sizes varied, but they had pedals in common. Handlebars glistening with the sun. It’s a scene that never seems to change. Two wheels and a child who believes they can fly like the wind. No matter the era, there’s just something about a kid and his bike.
Jedi has a bike that was handed down from his nephew. He won’t go anywhere near it. Last year, J made a few feeble attempts to teach him how to ride. He was wobbly and petrified and practically drowning the evil in holy water and garlic.
I was glancing out the window watching this group of kids as they passed with Jedi by my side, relishing in a brief interlude of childhood nostalgia.
“You see those kids? That should be you”, I said to Jedi.
“Nuh-uh, not me!”, he declined.
“Riding a bike is fun. You really need to give it a try”, I tried to enforce.
“No it’s not! Not for me!” He wasn’t giving up.
“Yes, for you, too.”
“No, not for me. I’ll fall down and get run over by a car!”
On the other hand, maybe bicycles just aren’t his thing. I suppose I shouldn’t hold my breath on skateboarding, either.
June 09 2010 ·
16 CommentsPosted in:
The Kids · Tags:
Abby,
girls,
life My daughter likes to play dress up. She doesn’t care a lot for most toys, sure she’ll snag the remote control or try to steal whatever her brothers are playing with. Let her loose on a drawer full of clothes, however, and she’ll satisfy herself for hours. Pants and shirts. Socks. Shoes. Never dresses.
If it’s pink or frilly, she’ll toss it aside with disdain. When we go out, I am already waged in a battle over acceptable attire. One that I tend to lose. I’d like her in a sundress, especially when it’s hot outside. “No, no!”, she protests. She wants jeans and a t-shirt.
To be completely honest, if it were entirely up to Abby, she’d most likely be draped in her brother’s wardrobe sized far too large for her small frame. Holding the pants up with her hands and shirts adorned with Spiderman that hang down to her knees. Rolled hems and arms lost in sleeves. My girl, my lone daughter, the one who I thought I’d get to prettify, prefers to dress like the boys.
When we’re home, she’s free to flaunt her funny sense of style. Droopy jeans, baseball tees, floppy hats. Mismatched socks, multiple layers. A pair of shorts on top of purple tights. This shirt, no that shirt, how about both? Inside out or backwards, but put on painstakingly without assistance. Iron Man and Power Ranger costumes from Halloweens past. The most beautiful superhero I know. She’ll take it off, just to put it right back on. It all winds up in a heap on the floor by the end of the day, like a bomb detonated in fabric. Except for the dresses. They remain pushed aside in her drawer.
