Of Vegetable Love

When I was younger (as with now), I was not a fan of my peas.  I am sure I was not alone in this opinion.  I would often-times find myself alone at the kitchen, peas scattered across the plate, determined not to eat the tiny green vegetables. 

After awhile, I developed an ingenious solution: tossing my peas around the room.  Dumping them all in a corner would be too obvious, but, when cleaning, if someone were to find a pea here and a pea there, it would be assumed one or two had fallen from an innocent, yet messy, child's plate.  Besides, they would be sure to blend in with the hideous green tile, so even when they were found, there would have passed enough time the connection to myself would be vague at best.

And so it went.  And, for awhile, at least, it actually worked!  But as with any deception, when enacted too often, the plan begins to unravel.  Because, after a week, as you can imagine, the peas start to build up.  And so the jig was up.

It would appear that my bold combination of ingenuity and a hatred of vegetables has been infused in my DNA and, thus, passed down to my firecracker of a daughter.  At this young age, her plans lack the foresight that will come with maturity (I'm already worried).  Tonight, after her staunch refusal to comsume her peas at Grandma & Grandpa's table, I left the room for a moment only to return to find an empty plate and Micaiah's whining, "Peas fall down my shirt!"

Sure enough, she had stuffed her vegetables down her collar and they had migrated to her diaper.  What she was forgetting was the fact that she's not supposed to announce her devious acts to the world.

Subtlety, I'm sure, will also come with time.

Pray for us.

Of Evening Talks

Last night, after a bedtime story, as Micaiah finished her stack of crackers and cup of water, while Emmett and Daddy had a heart-to-heart about the younger's recent tantrum, I decided to ask Micaiah about her evening.

"Did you have fun tonight?"
[nod]
"Who did you play with?
"I pay wit James and Deyton and . . . Jack."
"What did you play?"
"We slide and we swing and . . . we pull and another swing.  But the other swing broke."
"The other swing broke?"
[Nod] "And we pay ball when we share . . ."

And so the conversation went.  Me producing questions, her searching her brain for the details of the day, until, finally, she didn't even need prompts.  The words spilled forth as she realized she had a willing audience. No whining.  No demands.  No bossing.  No arguing.  Just talking.  About her day.  And when we had exhausted all talking points, I pronounced it was time for bed and she actually agreed.  Not fussy.  Just ready.

These are the kinds of talks I have looked forward to since before learning I would have a daughter.  I eagerly await further evening discussions with my blessed children.

Of First Words

With the gaggle of sounds a baby emits, it's no wonder, really, that I've found it hard to distinguish my children's "first" words - I'm really not sure how others do it.  Sure, they make sounds that vaguely resemble words.  But do they know what they're saying?  Or is it just another fun sound for them? 

At just about a year old, I was certain Micaiah's first word was "Book", as she said the word clearly and pointed to the book I was reading - then again, she did not repeat the word for months after that.  In the mean-time, "Hi", "Bye" and "No!" entered her repertoire quite regularly.  So were these her first words?  Who knows.

Meanwhile, Emmett has begun, within the past couple of months, to announce "Bye-bye!" along with his waving hand to any parting guest (or any time Mommy and Daddy encouraged him to show off his skills).  Thus, I suppose this would be his true first word.  Yesterday, however, Philip began determined efforts to teach him "Mama" - Emmett gave many concerted efforts but typically came out with, "Uh . . . Be?"  Which relates to the fact that "Baby" has been his most recent word of choice (yet another to which I am not certain he has attached a meaning).

Imagine our surprise and delight, therefore, when we took a family field trip to retrieve our son from his Sunday School Class this morning and, upon seeing us, he looked up, smiled and said, clearly, "Mama!"  As I turned to ask if Philip had heard it, Emmett repeated himself, stretching his arms out to the object of his speech, "Mama!"

If that doesn't melt a Momma's heart, I'm not sure what would.

Of Bridges

Tonight, while playing before bed, Micaiah demanded to crawl under her Aunt Dia.  After doing so and then requesting Mommy take a turn, the three adults decided to line up side-by-side, on hands and knees to create quite the tunnel for our excited girl. 

Over and over again she would crawl in one side, out the other (between being trapped by the unstable bridge members - who may or may not have collapsed on her on purpose), and promptly run back to the start to run the gauntlet again.

Emmett, noting her delight, began a crawling saunter around the front of the three big kids.  Wondering if he knew where he was going, we all giggled at his clear determination.  Then without any prompting and without delay, crawled right under Mommy, then under Aunt Dia, and, finally, opting for a shortcut, went under Daddy's left side and out between his arms in the front. 

One round was all that boy needed to decide that shimmying his way under his family members was not, in fact, very different from the sort of crawling he does any other day.  And, thus, the activity lost its appeal.

But at least he gave it a shot.

Of Creepy Crawlies

Our little girl, despite begging for her Beanie Baby snake before heading to bed, definitely has a girlie streak in her.  This was demonstrated today when, after emerging from my bedroom a half hour into her nap-time, I heard a small squeal from across the hall.  Opening the door to investigate, I found her, eyes wide, staring around the room, whimpering slightly.  "It's a bug!"

This bug - the one that was too terrifying to allow her to sleep - was your everyday house-fly.  But this did not matter to my little one.  The fact was, he was tiny, black and had wings - that was good enough for her.  He had to be dealt with.  So, I grabbed the fly swatter and deal with him, I did, but, apparently, not before he entirely ruined her nap-time.  She never did settle back to sleep.

And this is how she's been lately.  If there is an ant on the floor, she'll see it and watch carefully until I dispose of the creature in some manner or another.  A beetle sends her running, screaming, "Spider!" (which is pretty much what she calls anything that crawls - if it flies, it's usually a "bee").

Yep, that's my girl.  Cuddling with snakes and running from flies.  She's a paradox in training pants.

Of Playing Mean

Sometimes it's difficult to be the tough parent.  The problem with disciplining children is they can just be so darned cute.  And when they turn that grin on you, sometimes it doesn't matter that they're supposed to be in bed sleeping or that they gave up potty training weeks ago, so this late night toilet run is most likely a diversionary tactic.  Even in those moments, one well-timed and well-executed glow of sweetness will melt the toughest of parental hearts.

Which is why, tonight, in the above scenario, Philip turned the reins over to me.  Defenses weakened, he could not turn on the role of bad cop.  It was too late for him.  He needed back-up.

I hiked up my breeches and headed for the front-line.

There it was, the cuteness of death, displaying for me a book she didn't need to be perusing during her typical bed-time hour.  "Is a bear.  Is up-side down!"  [Cue adorable smile.]

"Micaiah, are you all done?"

[Shakes her head.]  "I need sit."

"Well, then, we need to put the book away so you can finish."

At this point she tosses out the grin in favor of the pout, puffed lip and all.  "I want Dia [also known as Aunt Dayla]."

[Steel-faced.] "No."

"I want Daddy."

[Tough as iron.] "No."

[Having run out of all other options in the house.] "I want Emmett."

That was it.  The straw that broke the camel's back.  I couldn't even manage the hand-over-the-mouth-to-hide-the-smirk-until-out-of-range tactic.  No, there was nothing subtle about it.  I let loose the greatest burst of laughter I'd had in days.  Cracking up, I could barely even explain myself to those out of her earshot.

That's my girl.  Breaking down barriers since 2008.

Of Breakfast (and Not)

Our daughter seems to be confused.

It would appear breakfast is not only the most important meal of the day, but her favorite.  It's got everything she loves and it tends to be consistent from day-to-day - in fact, every day, from the time she was old enough (thus, going on nearly two years now), she has had for her morning meal a banana and a sippie of milk - the only variable was the sort of cereal in her bowl.  On days/weeks when the box designated for her contained sugary goodness, she was a happy camper - other days, it would seem there was only so much she could take of Corn Chex or Crispix before her taste buds demanded something better.  Either way, she looks forward to that time of day.

So much so that every night before going to bed she is sure to confirm: "I wake up and I have pops [her current cereal is Kix - not quite sure why these are called pops] and I have banana and I have milk?"

"Yes, baby, you'll have all of that when you wake up."  This is typically all it takes for her to go to bed peacefully - the promise of breakfast in the morning.

The confusion is found in her inability to distinguish bed-time from nap-time.  Every afternoon, before laying down for her two hours of daily rest, the same question arises.  At which point, every afternoon, I attempt to describe to her the difference between nap-time sleeping and night-time sleeping. 

She still doesn't get it.

She still rolls out of bed at 4pm demanding her cereal and banana and milk.  And every day her little heart is broken once again as I attempt to explain that it is not morning yet.

Someday, I'm sure she'll learn.  But for now, she'll just have to settle for five animal crackers in her bowl.