Funny kid stuff

12.21.06

Kids do say the darndest things, that’s for sure.  Every night at bedtime while my girl and I cuddle, she plays with my ear and earring.  And every night she says, “Can you breathe, Mom?  Can you?”  This goes back to a time when she attempted to change the routine and play with my nose instead of my ear, and I couldn’t breathe.  So now it’s back to the ear but every night she checks my breathing status.

 

Her mastery of language continually surprises me, and her love of verbal routine.  About a year ago her Grandma C. started this with her… “How much do I love you?”  My girl replies, “I don’t know,” and her grandma tells her, “I love you sooooo much.”  So trying to get in on the game one day, I asked her the same question.  She didn’t miss a beat, “NOT so much.” 

 

It had, admittedly, been a tough week between us, and I laughed until my stomach hurt.  She laughed too, and said, “Grandma C. loves me sooooo  much.”  And to this day whenever I ask, “How much do I love you?” she tells me, “Not so much.”  I don’t think she understands the irony and the humor in it, but then again, I wouldn’t put anything past her.

 

We’re having a little issue with a certain part of potty training.  What’s aggravating is she only seems to have trouble with this at home.  I don’t understand exactly what the problem is, but I do know she’s mastered the skill elsewhere and is resistant to transferring it.  So I’ve told her she has to clean up her own mess and dress herself again.  No big deal, unless she’s tired. Then it’s a screaming, crying tirade of, “Help me!  You have to help me!” 

 

“I didn’t make the mess.  It’s your job to use the potty.”

 

“But it’s YOUR job to take care of me.  I’m your chi-ild.”  Child comes out in two syllables.

 

I don’t know where she gets these fabulous one-liners, but there I was, cracking up again.

 

This time of year lots of parents use Santa Claus as leverage to achieve good behavior.  So far that’s not working for me at all.  I say, “You better go to bed on time or Santa will put you on his naughty list and then he won’t leave you any presents.”

 

She assures me, “That’s okay, I have lots of toys, so I can be naughty.”

 

I can’t bribe her with Christmas at all.  Perhaps it’s her lack of experience with the holiday, the fact that she’s only 3 and doesn’t remember much about Christmas trees or Santa Claus.  As we decorated the tree today I asked her if she remembered doing this last year.  “No,” she said, “The only tree I ever put balls on was at school.”  And although she found the concept of bringing a tree into the house intriguing, when I set the tree on her “picnic rug” (the tree skirt) she was furious.  “Move that tree off my rug, Mom.  Put it back outside.  It’s ruining my picnic.”

 

She was mildly impressed when I turned on the tree lights.  I was less than impressed when I turned from that task to find all of the ornaments, beads, and garland strewn haphazardly across the dining room floor.  Even the Woolworth’s antique glass ornaments had not been treated with the dignity they deserve.  My husband, from the other end of the telephone, was saying, “Maybe you should leave the antique glass ornaments for next year,” just as I surveyed the mess.  All I could do was sight, “It’s a little late for that.”  Within moments my girl was bored of putting ornaments on the tree.  She resorted to hiding them behind her back, “I have a surprise for you, Mommy, ask me what I have!”

 

“What do you have?”

 

“A-a-sk nicely,” (this is a phrase that gets used and, possibly, over-used, here in the house-of- spoiled-brats).

 

“Please show me what you have.”

 

A delicate antique glass ornament appears clutched in the not-so-gentle hands of my child.  “Do you want it?  A-a-sk nicely!”  The gleam in her sparking blue eyes sends a zap of irritability straight up my spine.  How did she manage to pick my favorite?

 

Five minutes later:  “Look at my new doll, Mom.  Isn’t she bea-u-ti-ful?”

 

It was the angel.  The one that’s supposed to go on the top of the tree.  Oh dear.  This could be a problem.  A big empty-tree-top sort of problem.  Ah… well.  Christmas is for the children, right?

 

Sometimes you have an angel on the tree.  Sometimes the angel sleeps in a child’s bed.