Play-Skool - It's Work Too

I often think that it's a damn shame that we don't really seem to view children as actual people. Usually, these thoughts come when I see light to nearly non-existent sentences for parents found guilty of physical abuse or pedophiles found guilty of repeat offenses. It's easy to see it in those cases - light sentences for those who assault other "almost-but-not-yet-quite-people" just smacks of a certain level of de-humanization to me.

And I realized last night that on some level, no matter how much we may value our smallest of humans and their very humanity, even the best intended and most loving parents do it too. It was my mini-epiphany for the night when, after ensuring that A was snug in bed, I took a moment to breathe and revel in the silence and reflect on the evening to that point.

She was quiet, as she often is for a while, on the car ride home. Sometimes, when I ask about her day, she just sticks her thumb in her mouth and gives me The Look which is when I leave her alone. But yesterday, we got home early

No Other Mother's Day Gift Like It

On Friday when I picked A up from play-skool, there was a "gift" on top of her cubby. The kids had planted bean seeds and their teachers had stapled their picture to a popsicle stick, which was then stuck into the soil. It was accompanied by a rather silly ode to mothers, signed with the individual child's handprint in paint.


I remembered making these things when I was little and mocking them when I was large. I never imagined that I would ever be the intended recipient of the same someday, nor had I dreamed that my heart would actually melt when I received it.

Truly though, my real gift from her has been the change to revel in her recent explosion of language and imagination that's happened in the course of the last couple of months.

Her teachers tell me that she excels in both emergent writing and dramatic play (for daycare, this is really more like pre-school given the concepts they're being taught). We see it every day. She's often offered imaginary popcorn by Woozles (see Winnie the Pooh if you're unfamiliar) that seem to follow wherever she's got a craving for popcorn (which she's only ever had once, ages ago). Friday, on the way home, she was being offered imaginary lollipops by the mermaid sitting next to her in the back seat. Last night, she raided a store under the sea on an impromptu oceanic adventure in the bathtub. Naturally, mermaids helped.

She sees monsters in dark parking garages and the woods as we drive by. Some are good, some are bad. The ones currently under bed are her friends. Same for the ones residing in the closet.

I knew life was going to get interesting a few months ago when I had cleaned out her playroom closet and left a shallow, dish shaped basket on the floor while I contemplated it's fate. I walked in one night to check on her and she was sitting in it. She looked up at me and said, "My nest!" Under her bum were 3 bug-mobiles that were vaguely egg shaped. She was "hatching them" and then placing them reverently in a box.

I hadn't realized then how interesting, and funny, it was really going to become.

What better Mother's Day gift than a happy, healthy, giggling, playful, imaginative daughter could there be?

So You Say it's Your Birthday...

"Mommy! I have birfday soon!" chirped a little voice from the backseat. This was a month ago and caught me completely off guard. "Yes!" I exclaimed.
"Oh! And I have bleeoons and a poh-sickle and a cup-cake...and I blow out candle!!"
"Yes!" I exclaimed again, taken aback at the amount of thought she'd put into this whole thing. "Er...would you like...pizza on your birthday?"
"Nnnnoooo. I like macaronicheeseHOTDOG."

I was in the drivers seat, nearly weeping with joy. Easiest birthday EVAR. "Um," I stumbled forward with a little dread, trying to plumb the depths of my nearly-two-year-old's mind, "What kind of present would you like? A dolly? A book?"
"No." After almost a minute of silence, "Oh! I like a ball."
"A ball?!"
"YETH!"

For the last month, we've been hearing about balloons and cakes, candles and balls...and a more recent request for a special birthday hat, non-stop. So guess what today is? It's her birthday. But shhh...she doesn't know it. Her party isn't until Friday, when my mother, sister, and nephew arrive. Why? Because neither of us want to set a precedent that one's birthday comes more than once a year. Part of me feels badly about it, but in the end, she'll have her party with balloons and popsicles, cakes and candles, and of course, her Very Special Hat. People will make a fuss over her and she'll go to bed that night knowing that birthdays are special indeed.

And we'll hear about it every day until next year...or at least until a month before Christmas when the tune will change to Santa Claus.

Today though, I'm taking this as my day to celebrate that two years ago, I first held her in my arms - a tiny, transluscent thing with a small cry. I'm celebrating the fact that she has survived two years of our parenting, a combination of muddling and bungling through. I am celebrating the fact that we have, for two years, managed to save her from herself on a daily basis. After all, it is the job of every mobile baby and toddler to attempt suicide at least twice a day. Today is her birthday and it marks a huge turning point in all of our lives, even if she doesn't know it.

How to Tell When Your Child is Full of Poopnstuffs

Dear Mom: Remember the bunny slippers you laughed at about a year or so ago? You remember...don't you? My soppy little bunnies with the every-which-way ears and limp whiskers, staring at you forlornly as they cuddled my feet...Yes! Those bunnies, the open back ones with tiny little cotton tails! You do remember! Well, remember how you asked if I was ever going to grow up and I screamed, "NOANDYOUCAN'TMAKE ME!!!" and then ran to my room and slammed the door?

I have found an adult use for them.

They entertain your beloved grand-demon-spawn, my cruel cherub child.

Yes, dear reader...the title will become relevant in a moment. I was just painting the scene for you.

So tonight, I donned my soppy bunnies. And my sweet, fresh faced, pink cheeked angel shrieked, "BUHHIES!!!" and followed me out of the room, stopping me every 6 inches to flop to my feet and hug and kiss them. Now, hugging is no quiet affair for this child. She places her head on the huggees shoulder (or...well...bunny face) and says, oh-so affectionately, "Awwww..." and squeezes tight. It's so sweet it practically squeezes treacle out of oxygen molecules.

I finally made it to the kitchne, the ultimate goal, where I started to do the dishes. My darling child promptly flopped to the floor and hugged and kissed the bunnies while I sudsed and rinsed the dinner dishes.

Finally, her father came in from taking out the rubbish and I exhorted her to show him how she hugged the bunnies. After all, there really is something rather endearing and funny about having your feet repeatedly hugged simply because they transform into soppy rabbits with crooked ears...

She smiled at me and raised one tiny, little size baby 5, feety pajama clad foot, brought it down hard on my right bunny and declared, "'TOMP!"

Then ran off laughing her golden head off.

Poopnstuffs. She has it.

So you see, Mom, I'm much more adult than you would think. I would never stomp a bunny.