Archive for the ‘Abby’ Tag
April 04 2011
We ventured to every parent’s worst nightmare this past weekend; Chuck E. Cheese. Where a kid can be a kid, and the mom is dragged around just to insert tokens. It’s like slot machines for tikes. Which I dutifully obliged, so long as I got in a game of skeeball before we left.
A garlic-enfused cardboard-crust pizza, a terrified encounter with a giant mouse, a couple interrupted games of skeeball, over 500 tickets and 3 hours later, the cup of Chuck E. gold was finally diminished. No sooner did my riches run dry, however, than Abby climbed into her favorite little kid car ride that’s meant to bop along at a snail’s pace and wouldn’t get out. When Jedi reaches into his pants pocket and emerges with a single shiny coin clenched in his fingers.
“Here, she can have this one”, he offers, selflessly handing over his last token to make his little sister happy. I even double-checked, to make sure I understood his true intentions. It’s not that he’s ever knowingly unkind, but he would normally need a nudge, or a full-throttled yank, for such charitable behavior. With all of the games he could have played, though, he said instead, “Yeah, I want her to have it”.
Now doesn’t that sound like a wonderful big brother? It’s enough to make a mama proud.
Until later that night when Jedi walks in on the verge of tears. “I shouldn’t have wasted my last token”, he sniffles. “The next time we go to Chuck E. Cheese, you need to find my coin and give it back to me.”
That’s more like it.
March 15 2011
My daughter likes to dress herself, and has ever since she could walk. I’ve even documented our disputes over her choice of wardrobe. She seems to have moved on from dressing like her brothers these days, finally preferring her own clothes. Except now, she wants to wear the same outfit every day of the week and has to have it just so. Including socks.
Abby’s socks must taste very good because the sock monster likes to eat them up. I’ve purchased countless styles and packs and I think we have about 5 matching pairs left. Though this is might be a good thing, considering my daughter is a fickled sort who can’t make up her mind.
As was the case the other day when she got herself dressed. Pants, shirt, another shirt (yes, she layers, sometimes multiple upon multiple), but lo! she was without socks. “Socks, mommy, socks!”, she demanded. Not wanting to deprive my daughter of warm feet, I dug through her unsightly mess of a drawer and came up with 2 pairs. One had blue stripes, the other red.
“We have blue stripes and we have red”, I said, dangling each pair in front of her. “Blue”, holding it with arm-outstretched. “Red”, pulling the blue pair back and doing the same. This continued on until I knew she understood.
“Blue?”, Abby asked pointing to the pair striped blue. “Red?”, doing the same with the red.
“Yes. Now, which one do you want to wear today?”
“Ummm….”, she mulled over her decision long and hard. “Yellow!”
March 10 2011
I’m not much of a makeup kind of girl. I used to wear a bit when I worked outside the home, before the kids, but I was never one to get completely made up. Since then, and in the midst of our many moves over the years, I had even managed to lose the bag containing my assortment of sorely outdated glosses and shadows. I didn’t even have a bottle of nail polish to my name. Replacing it all seemed like a task too daunting, however, especially when faced with the plethora of product in that department.
The other day, though, I mustered up the gumption to change all that. I admit, I’ve been feeling a bit down, so I thought it might be a tiny foot in the positive direction. In true form, I bravely treked down the aisle and picked the most boring, neutral shades available. But it was something, at least.
When I returned home, I poured my new purchases on the bathroom counter and began to rack my brain to remember how it was all supposed to be applied. All those years of reading Seventeen had to be good for something. The entire time, Abby was at my side, watching with both confusion and awe.
I leaned close to the mirror and smeared a bit of eyeliner on my upper lid. “This isn’t so bad”, I said to no one in particular. “Why did I stop messing with this stuff again?”
That’s when I looked down to find Abby had confiscated the eyeshadow. With brush in hand, she swiped a streak of sparkling brown across her forehead, then another down her cheek. “Pretty?”, she smiled.
Ah yes, that’s why.
February 03 2011
This goes on the list of things I’ve been terrified of happening that actually happened but by the grace of God could have been worse, though we could have avoided any injury at all if my kids would just listen to me.
Yeah, that list.
The list that before this included:
1. Jedi choking on a chicken nugget when he was 2 (little bites!)
2. Jedi falling 6 feet on to a metal platform, headfirst (watch where you’re going!)
3. A big screen TV falling on a barely 1 year old Abby (what can you say to that, really)
(For some strange reason, none of these include my local hell-on-wheels, Buzz. Maybe that’s because every day with him seems like a near-death experience.)
I can now add one more:
4. Abby falling off the couch hitting the side of her head on the sharp edge of a table (be careful!)
I was never a dangerous child growing up. Sure, I’d climb trees, and I had a run-in with the pavement after falling off my bike a couple of times, but I never broke a bone or needed stitches. I knew Abby’s wound wasn’t deep, but the placement, above her temple on her hairline, and width made me unsure if it made a trip to the ER necessary. Luckily, my parents were already on their way over. My mother helped me clean the gash and apply a cold compress to combat swelling along with a bandage. I watched my daughter like a hawk for the rest of the day, but soon enough she was back to her old tricks, like it never happened. Kids, they’re a resilient, crazy sort.
She also still doesn’t listen to me. I wish they’d realize that I don’t say “be careful” for nothing, you know.
January 07 2011
For this past Christmas, I made the mistake of suggesting we buy Abby another stash of crayons. Her previous lot has been broken into pieces, chewed, and lost in every nook and cranny not even imaginable, and I don’t even let her play with them often. If you’ve been reading here long enough, you probably know my position on crayons. They’re an evil hassle more than anything. But she loves them, and who am I to deny that?
So we bought her a tower of crayons. From the moment she opened it on Christmas morning, that was all she wanted to play with. Not color, mind you. No, she does very little actual coloring. She just carried them around everywhere, transferring from one position to another. Until they were dumped out and spread around the house. Then we played pick-up.
We gathered most of them and I put them in their place out of her reach. This way, she’s only able to desecrate the house when I’m in the mood, or am desperate.
Even still, I’m finding crayons hiding under couches and tables. Like the other day, when Abby emerged with a very red, unused Crayola.
I didn’t get a chance to grab it from her, however, as she immediately darted away with it to the boys’ room, hoarding it away like her precious. Since it was time to make the kids’ lunches, I let her go, forgetting how much harm she could really do with one crayon.
It wasn’t until a few hours later that I looked in to realize she had scribbled bold red all over my son’s bed.
I spent the afternoon tediously scrubbing the pigment out of his white and blue comforter. When it was all said and done, most of it had been erased, or more smeared. A light pink-ish hint in its place. But it could be worse. 7 year old boys like pink, right?
I'm Crystal. A 30-something mom to 3 young kids living in the Midwest USA. When I'm not chasing my children, I'm a freelance writer and web designer. I like to tell stories from our days and share what we enjoy...
