|That red stuff is crayon, right? Why is it dripping...?|
You give your kid a chance to express her artistic skills in the bathtub, and the only thing missing is a blood-dripping RED RUM. Should have seen it coming. Oh well, at least she's consistent.
|That red stuff is crayon, right? Why is it dripping...?|
Me: Your bunny is on vacation. Visiting his family.
Her: But...his family is dead.
Me: It is?
Her: Yes. They died three weeks ago.
Me: Well . . . I guess he's just on vacation by himself.
Addison (whispered): We are his family now.It was either sweet or creepy. Or both. You may recall that Addison is pretty good at the creepy.
Addison: What is my nipple name?
Addison: My nipple name! You understand me?!
Me: Your...middle name?
Addison: That is what I said.
Me: Sage. It's Sage.
Addison (huffily): Thank you.________________________
Addison (a little breathless): Here's the deal.
A pause to collect her thoughts.
Addison: Wolves are coming. I need to hide in the curtains.I suppose hiding from wolves in a flimsy curtain is her version of the duck and cover drill for nuclear attack. Luck with that, kiddo.
Me: Who is my favorite little girl?
My wife raises her hand. Addison crosses her arms belligerently, but then sees her mom raising her hand and shoots hers up in the air too. You can always count on her sense of competition.
Me: Oh, so you're both my little girls?
Me: And who am I?
Addison: Your name is Neal and you are a gentleman.And you, little girl, will get a pony someday if you keep up this kind of talk.
Brought Addison in for her three year check-up today. Among other things, they did a finger-prick blood test to check lead levels. 'Cause of all the dirt she eats.
Also, after her flu shot, as she's sniffling and with tears rolling down her cheeks, I ask her if she wants to say anything to the receptionists.
"Have a nice a day," she calls out, before burying her head in my shoulder again.
"Can we take a elevator," she whispers to me. "Because I'm a yittle sensitive right now."
No problem, kid.
At church today Addison was playing with a Buzz Lightyear toy. She noticed that one of his hands was in a fist. So she started punching me with his fist.
Me: Be nice, Addison.
Addison: But he is just a toy. It is only pretend hitting. I am only pretend hurting you.
Me: And I'm going to pretend put you in time-out. I'll need you to pretend to be very quiet while you pretend to sit against the wall without moving. And then you can pretend to think about the consequences of your actions.
Addison just clapped her hands over her mouth in surprise.
Addison: I can't talk!
Me: Are you sure about that?
Addison: Mm hmm.
Me: What happened?
Addison (hissed with a mad face): Ursula.
Last night Addison had her first ear ache. Or at least it was the first time she was able to express it to us.
At some vague middle-of-the-night hour I was just coaxing her back into bed and we were having a mostly cheerful conversation about Monsters, Inc. And she says as though suddenly experiencing an epiphany:
"Monsters don't have gynas or bums! Only humans have gynas and bums."
And with that, my poor, clingy, sick little girl appeared to have achieved a powerful peace with the universe. She said:
"You can go now, dad. You can go."
It wasn't the last time last night that I held her on my shoulder as she cried, but I'm still thinking of that thoughtful dismissal she gave me. There's a tough young woman in my little girl, preparing herself for the world.
Lindsay: It's really cold. Are you cold?
Me: It's like sixty-five degrees. And you're wearing a jacket.
Lindsay: Wow, I feel cold. I'm shivering.
Me: Weird. Your teeth are chattering.
Lindsay: I need to sit down.After a bit resting on the bench, we got up and Lindsay gamely limped around for a minute, clinging to me for support. This wasn't going quite as I'd hoped. We gave up on the gardens and headed back to the car. I debated saving the proposal up for another, more auspicious day, but decided to just go through with it, sick girlfriend or not. If I punked her again she might say no the next time.
Clerk: What can I help you with today?
Me: Um, we're looking for rings.
Clerk: What kind?
Lindsay: Like, an engagement ring? We just got engaged.
Clerk: Yeah, an engagement ring would make sense. Here are some options . . . do you know what kind of stone or cut you want? A diamond?
Lindsay: I don't know. How much is this one?
Clerk: Let's see. $1100.
Lindsay: Wow. Um, what about this one?
Clerk: Oh, lots of people like this one.
Me: Uh oh.
Clerk: This one's $2,400.
Me: Do you have anything for, like, under $100?
Clerk: Engagement rings?
Lindsay: Just a sec. I'm feeling sick. I need to go sit down.
Me (just before going to check on Lindsay): So, what's the return policy like on these?"I wonder what the clerk thought. What a bunch of cheapskates. Also: maybe this girl was having second thoughts about the whole thing, and too upset to go through with ring shopping. Or maybe I'd knocked her up, and we needed a quick wedding before the morning sickness started giving her away.
"Happy Valentine's Day! All of this is for you."You're welcome, honey.
Addison: You're making it stupid! My birthday party! You're making it stupid!Hey, we're making memories here, right? Does it matter whether they're good ones or bad ones? Also, I'd like to emphasize, for future arguments' sake, that she did not learn "stupid" from me.
|It's not a party 'till I break out the pull-up bar|
Addison: Wow! Tickets!So, our three-year-old doesn't actually know what money is. It kind of surprised us, too, but I'm pretty okay with that.
|Note Gramps still cradling his useless arm in the background.|
Had some late night escapades with the daughter last night, so we all slept in, and when she woke up, she was a little bit sensitive. I asked if she wanted to come cuddle in bed. Usually she'd be like, "No!" and off like a shot, bouncing off the walls.
But today she quietly said yes, got under the covers, and put her head next to mine on the pillow. We talked about why she woke up so much, about her dreams about mean cows, about how she thought she lost her bunny in the dark but it turned out it was right next to her.It actually got more positive feedback than anything else I've posted on Facebook. It appears that the people have voted, and they'd like me to stop having scatological conversations (or arguments) with my daughter, and replace them with more sweet meditative moments. Unfortunately for the people, there are a lot more of the former than the latter around here (Addison is washing off in the tub, again, as we speak). And I'm a fan of truth in advertising.
And for a long five or ten seconds, we just lay there without talking, and I watched her. She was probably thinking about Dora or eating cookies or something . . . but the way she was so soberly staring into the distance, I could imagine she was thinking about love, or about what it means to grow older, or about how in a few years we'll be scrambling to get ready for school with no time for a morning cuddle, with no time in the morning to gaze thoughtfully into the distance.
She's got so much energy, she rarely sits in one place long enough for me to really look into her eyes. While she was staring up into space, I watched her. I traced the colorful patterns blooming out from a small black center into her brilliant irises.
It's no new thing to marvel over a loved one's eyes. I've spent plenty of time doing that with my wife (perhaps more in the past than the present . . . note to self: I need to get on that). But there's something about pondering a child's eyes, about imagining what's going through her head, the connections she's just starting to make, the infinite possibilities not yet weighed down by "real life," that's both beautiful and overwhelming.
When I imagine the object of her gaze, it's the entirety of the universe; it's the smallest particle and the largest galaxy. Because she's too young to even know that there are some things we can't comprehend. She matter-of-factly considers it all, each thought bound tentatively, magically together with the last, too new to be hardened into the rigid pathways of adulthood. She's just broken out of the seed, a green sprout testing the air. Everything's still growing inside her, tendrils and shoots reaching wildly, experimentally towards the light.
It's cool to see. That's all.