Dearest Babybel,
Thirty-two months is two and three-quarters of a year.
Quarters, you say?
The other day I found you behind the couch with my wallet. My first thought and exclamation was "ARE YOU GOING TAE?!?!" (Where, tae = TA-e = poop = feces = washing out your underwear YET again = having to do the dishes that are sitting in the sink = so they don't get poop on them = not dying of dysentery).
My second thought was that you were making trouble, imitating your sister who gets all SORTS of attention as she does her methodical rounds of the house each day, destroying, knocking over, pulling out, never resting until each and every book, toy, sharp utensil and item of clothing has been properly launched out the window and across the state of California.
But, before I could accuse, chastise or otherwise say anything I would come to regret, you popped up from behind the couch, not guilty at all, instead pointing the figurative finger at me: "You DO have quarters, Mommy! They are in your wallet. And here's your diaper." (Where diaper = Always brand overnight protection menstrual pad = you are too observant, cogent and a better listener than you let on = everything I ever say will come back to haunt me = dying of embarrassment when you discuss my "diaper" situation in the grocery store).
Quarters, you say?
"You do have monies, Mommy! For the submarine!"
Synapses fire, dots connect and I realize you're talking about the time last week when you asked if you could ride the "submarine" at the mall (even though we weren't even at the mall and last time you rode the coin-op submarine was over a month ago). And I lied. And told you I didn't have quarters.
You correct me ALL THE TIME. Something I did when I was two. And something I stil do ALL THE TIME. It's a horrible habit, personality trait, what have you. It's perceived as know-it-all-ness or being overly critical. I hurt your dad's feelings on the daily with my corrections. But, I can't help myself. THOSE are NOT "reading glasses". They are just "glasses". For seeing far away. Because I'm near-sighted. And the two types of glasses are entirely different. I know. I knew what you meant. I'm just saying! Never mind. Just hand me the glasses.
Sometimes, it's about being "right" but, in my defense: in my mind, it comes from a place of concern. I don't want you walking around mis-pronouncing words, using the wrong terms or otherwise sounding stupid. And it's true, because I only have the impulse to correct the people closest to me. If a stranger is saying stupid, wrong and incorrect things, I smile and nod. I could care less whether they fail an exam or goof up an interview.
The educator/behavior modification-er/perfectionist/mother in me says that, correction, in and of itself, isn't horrible. But, it's true that my correcting, sometimes turns into "debating" or "arguing" to prove that I'm right. And THAT we could all do without.
Thus far, your calling me out and correcting me has little to do with arguing. But, it makes me ever so aware of my own tendencies and sometimes, short-comings. And the fact that even "little pitchers have big ears."
(Can I trade my "little pitcher" in for this?)
Right now, I find it cute and clever that you correct me, remind me that we forgot to brush your teeth or that I'm singing "Rolling in the Deep" ALL wrong or that I forgot to give you a sweet snack for peeing in the potty. Five days ago. But, that's just me. I'm not sure how long and how far the cuteness will reach before your precociousness becomes off-putting. Uncle Chuck, to this day, still reminds me that I used to correct his grammar. When I was four.
I also use your desire to correct as a manipulative tool. When I picked you up at school yesterday, you refused to leave because you wanted to keep playing. And your teachers weren't really laying down the law. Of course not, that's my job. But, when that doesn't work, I asked you to help me get your lunch box. Because I can't remember which one it is. The one with the princess right? NO, MOMMY! NOT THE PRINCESS ONE. THE ROBOT ONE. I'M GET THE RIGHT ONE. STOP, MOMMY! NO! THE ROBOT ONE! THE ROBOT ONE!
("No, Mommy. Pamamedics don't drive ambalences. Mouse do.")
For as literal and serious as you are, you also have a great imagination. Sometimes it isn't so original: "I'm have an idea! You be the mom and I'm be the sister and are have a picnic! Mommy, can Danielly and I have cheddar bunnies at are picnic?" I'll give you credit for the "imaginative" way in which you ask for a snack.
Other times, you do come out of left field.
You have an imaginary friend named "Kiki." From what I can gather, she/he is a very tiny flying dinosaur. She/he hasn't made an appearance in a couple of months. But, the other day you asked me to roll down the window because Kiki wanted to fly outside our car and would meet us on our porch. Or you just wanted me to roll down your window. And you knew I wouldn't do it for you. But, I did it for Kiki.
One day I'll ask what your baby doll is named and you reply "I don't know," so we've taken to calling al your dolls "Baby Ida" as in "Ida Know." The next day you'll tell me your robot is named Wing-Na.
This isn't the most entertaining play I've observed from the corner of my eye, but it's what I've managed to capture on video:
I forget if I've mentioned, but you also have a real friend at school named David. You go to a Jewish preschool. And one day you were doing "stamping" and the teacher explained that you were using a Star of David stamp. She told me that you were quite upset to learn that there was no Star of Maribel stamp. And why does David have a Star Stamp?
I sent you to bed early sometime last week. That's it. Enough. It is not okay to act like this. You're going to bed. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. I also put your sister down at the same time. You were very quick to point out that you were going to bed early, because you didn't listen and made bad choices. But, Mother Dearest, why is Danielly going to sleep? "Her didn't make bad choices. Why her have to go to sleep?"
Grrrrrr.
Like I said: too smart for my own good.
Love you no matter what.
Oh, Lauren, you made me laugh. Out. Loud. Not the short version. Really, for real. You may hurt your dad's feelings, but you GET IT FROM HIM! Oh my goodness. Sigh....I was his just-younger sister, so I KNOW from being corrected. All the time. Relentless. Don't believe him if he tells you he didn't. I love him anyway, because I was probably better and less lazy for it.
Maribel will eat your brain. She will always be the lawyer, the debater. She will get what she needs.
Danielly will get hers, too. But she'll just take it. What the heck use is it to argue about it?
So much amazing fun. They are beautiful, smart girls you have.
Posted by: amy | 28 September 2011 at 06:04 PM