I remember the last day of kindergarten. The classes were crazy with anticipation for the day that seemed impossible to ever arrive. A school year lasted F-O-R-E-V-E-R. Repeat until I’m 18? I’ll be dead before I finish school!!!
Good news, I made it through the long years without old age and death getting me first!
Fast forward to now: my 13 year old stood in the kitchen of our temporary rental house, flicking on and off the light. I told him to stop.
“Yeah,” chimed in the 6 year old (who is always on hand for, um, back up). “This house is old! It’s like… TWO YEARS OLD!”
Not to argue, but it’s at least 30. That was unfathomable to her, of course! Maybe they’ll be even more careful, considering it’s nearing old age and disability.
My dear husband, always looking out for my weight and health (especially when I’m pregnant and having a sweet tooth moment), went to the store last night and bought a bag of peanut butter snickers, regular snickers and sour patch kids. I ate my fill last night and woke up feeling guilty. After a few hours, the guilt subsided and I reached into the cabinet. Making sure no little eyes were watching, I pulled out a few sour patch kids and popped them into my mouth.
But, I had been spotted by the four-year old.
In a flash, there were four little faces crowding me.
“Okay,” I said, “You each can have a sour patch kid,”
My clever five-year old daughter said, “I think you forgot an ‘s’ at the end of ‘kid’.” Impressed by her quick and witty response to my obvious stinginess, I handed them each two.
It was wake-up hour at my house and I was in the little boys’ room feeding the baby. My 5-year old came in and said (in lieu of “good morning”):
“If you had one hundred kids it would take forever to get ready for church! We would always be late because you would have to dress all those kids!”
Forgive the previous attempt to post this… I am still figuring out how to blog from my phone 🙂
This morning my 3-year old was fixated on kids riding cyborgs. Over and over again he said, “those boys shouldn’t be riding cyborgs on the playground. We have to take them away.”
With two older brothers who love all things robots, Transformers and Legos, the fact that the word “cyborg” is in his vocabulary is only natural. However, I really was at a loss for a few minutes as to what he was trying to tell me.
Then he said, “Daddy rides a cyborg. But those boys shouldn’t ride them on the playground. We have to stop them.”
Then I remembered that a few days ago we had gone to the playground while my daughter was at soccer practice. We usually go while either she or her brother are practicing, but this time the playground was occupied by big kids on skateboards. I told my kids we would not able to play that day because of this. So I asked my 3-year old if he meant skateboards instead of cyborgs.
“Yes,” he said. But still he went on about those boys on their cyborgs!
Here is my 3-year old:
I adore him. He paints pictures and builds tall Lego towers. He lays in the flower beds with our dog that’s twice his size and sits in my lap to cuddle.
And I think how undeniably cute he is…
Then he comes down the stairs, smiles up at me with his missing-tooth-grin, and says sweetly,
“Hi Mommy! I drank my snot…”
As carefree and simple as the lives of children may appear to be, it is not all marshmallows and rainbows. They are actually complex little people struggling every second, and unlike adults, they voice these struggles every single second.
Take my daughter, for example. I love her dearly. It’s just her and me in a house full of loud boys. Thankfully, she can play with the boys but still want a pink room, painted nails, and a Rapunzel dress instead of a Spider-man costume. However, lately we have not been getting along as well as I would like. This truly breaks my heart and I plan on spending more one-on-one girly time with her from here on out.
Now when she gets caught doing something she has been told many times not to do, I might tell her what she did was naughty. I never say “bad,” as I do not believe my children are bad. Bad is for people who are bad on the inside, which most children are not. Naughty is just making kid mistakes.
Today as we were loading into the car for one of the kids’ soccer practices, she said to me, “Mommy, you know what the hardest thing for me to do is?”
“What’s that?” I asked, struggling to buckle everyone up.
“To be good when I’m being bad. Because even though I want to be good when I’m being bad, it’s just so hard!”
In case you have ever wondered whether children ponder the great mysteries of life, I am here to assure you that they do. Take my 8-year old son, for example. This morning we were on our way to church, driving along with little to no conversation. Suddenly, from the back of the car he asks, “Mommy, how big is Daddy’s head?”
Now while I could not stop laughing, I also was quite curious as to just how long he was wondering this, WHY he was wondering this, and what the whole thought process was behind such a question.