Archive for the ‘The Kids’ Category
September 05 2011
Selecting Abby’s outfit for the day can be a teeth-gnashing ordeal. There shouldn’t be much bickering, since she only wants to wear the same ensemble every day. Surprisingly, however, take issue with this. Especially when her cherished garments are out of season. Or dirty. Clean clothes, let alone a change now and then, they’re your friend.
As per usual on this day, she went for her normal attire. Black leggings and a striped long-sleeved shirt to layer upon. Though it was supposed to be a record high temperature of 103 that day and this would be like wearing a sauna. She needed to be presented with other options. I opened her dresser drawer and bravely suggested, complete with explanation, “It’s supposed to be really hot today, so why don’t we put on some shorts, or a dress?”.
Abby’s face turned into a pout as she formed a reply that sounded a lot like, “You’f a bonny”.
“Did you just call me a bunny?”, I asked her.
“No. You…”, she continued pointing her finger in my direction, articulating each word as clearly as she could with emphasis. “You full a baoni.”
Catching on, I offered, “I’m full of bologna? Did you learn that from Grandma?”.
“Yep. You full a baoni, Mommy”, she repeated.
In the end, we compromised, she sweated, and I’m still full of bologna. I can thank her grandma for that.
September 01 2011
If there’s one thing my daughter loves, it’s brushing her hair. The more you run a comb through Abby’s curly strands, the happier she’ll be. Momentarily, anyway. She doesn’t want you to stop. And after you say enough, your hair has been coiffed to perfection, she’ll purposefully tousle her still not very long crown of locks just so it can be swept in place again.
If she can’t have her hair brushed, however, next in line is to brush yours.
Or, her model of choice, Buzz’s.
I can tell it’s that time when she goes in search for her favorite comb in the bathroom drawer set aside for hair clips, bows, and bands. Then she stomps throughout our relatively tiny abode in search of Buzz, her favorite makeover victim. Where he’ll sit still, if not happily, and lovingly allow his sister to pull a comb through his short hair. For a few minutes. Until he’s had enough. Because Abby could play that game all night long if he let her.
“Buzz, get back here! Sit there!”, she’ll yell after in her normal bossy tone, as he stands, attempting to dart away in an open opportunity. Last night, for instance, he tried to hide under a pile of pillows. But he doesn’t like to listen to her cries, so he complies, sitting back down again as told. And the hairdressing continues. Thankfully, she has yet to try to dress him in sparkly pink headbands.
What that boy puts up with for his sister. I’ve been sure to tell him that he’s such a good big brother. Truth is, I’m just glad it’s him and not me.
August 31 2011
In 1st grade, Jedi became good friends with a boy named Obi-Wan. They were such good friends that they would greet each other with a hug every day. This is now 2nd grade, however, and they are growing up. Things are different.
After a brief discussion about how his first day back at school went, I wondered if all the kids from last year were still in his class. “Was Obi-Wan there?”
“Yes”, he replied.
“Did you give him a hug?”, I asked.
“No”, Jedi responded, a boy of few words on this rare occasion.
“Why not?”
“I just didn’t.”
Sensing the answer myself, and remembering how different the politics of each higher grade are, I offered, “Are you too big in 2nd grade to give each other hugs?”.
“Yes”, he agreed before repeating, “I’m too big now”. Then, he quickly clarified, “But only at school. I can still give you hugs at home.”. Whew, well that’s good to know. The force, it’s still strong in that one. As long as it’s in the privacy of these walls, anyway.
August 11 2011
I had to run an errand a few days ago and left my mom in charge of my kids. Or maybe that’s the other way around. I do keep expecting to come back one of these days and find my mother strapped to a chair, fire engulfing the living room.
Not that I’m so great, either. That’s how I feel about my own parenting abilities on most days, too.
As I walked in on this day, gone just over an hour, there was a slight aroma of honey in the air. It wasn’t a terrible scent, it could have been worse definitely, so I didn’t dwell on it. But then, I noticed my daughter. Who, granted, normally sparkles, but not like this.
She was shiny.
I meandered over to where Abby stood and ran my thumb over her greasy cheek, then through the gummy front of her hair.
“You’ve been in the chapstick, haven’t you?”, I questioned.
“Yeah”, Abby answered, proud of her application.
When my mom quickly spoke up, “I turned around for just a minute and she was smearing it all over herself. I didn’t even have time to stop her.”
I wanted to give my mother a hard time about it. I tried, in fact. But I couldn’t bring myself to scold her too harshly. There’s a reason why I knew what happened before she said a word. Abby did the same thing with me just the day prior, only that time with strawberry-scented that left her face tinted pink. They’re quick, curious little things, and it only takes less than a minute for trouble to brew. Although now that I think about it, that’s how fires start, too.
August 05 2011
Yesterday, my daughter came to me pointing at her throat, clearly an issue. She had been carrying a small glass marble in her hand earlier that was now gone, so naturally I jumped to conclusions. Though Abby was eager to play along.
“Did you swallow the marble?”, I asked. She knows she isn’t supposed to put things in her mouth, but she does anyway to spite me. 3 year olds are fun that way.
“Yeah”, she whined, her face scrunching into concern. I studied her closely for a moment, and while her throat may have been bothering her, all else was fine. Still, strangely enough this was my first instance of a foreign object allegedly swallowed and I was unsure what my next step should be. Thus, I did what my instincts told me to do and turned to the internet.
Surely I can’t be the only parent of a kid who’s swallowed a marble, as I took my quandary to Google. Where it turns out there many, many, many other kids who have sucked down all sorts of things. The advice I found was to monitor my child, but I would have to strain through her stool, much like when you make jam, to ensure the marble passed safely. If it hasn’t within a few days, a doctor’s visit would be in order.
As if I’m not familiar with my kids’ bowels enough as it is.
A while later, I was still trying to pep talk myself into digging through my daughter’s fecal matter when I went to clean the boys’ room as a distraction. Under the pile of Star Wars figures dumped out that morning, there it was. Not in the pit of her stomach as she led me to believe, but in the depths of the toy-strewn floor.
The marble.
I’m just glad I don’t have to strain poo.
