1m2aSandbox

I was sitting talking to a friend of mine
recently when the subject of her upcoming birthday came up. I
pressed D to tell me what she’d like to do to celebrate her
big day, since I’d never been in the same town when her
birthday came up before. For a while she stalled and wouldn’t
tell me anything, but finally she said to me, “To be
completely honest, I’d really like to forget all about it and
just let it go by.”


That’s her right, of course, and if that’s truly what
she wants I respect that. But I can’t help contrasting that
with Mother’s Day – D has several children, and though
shy and not ever interested in being the center of attention, D was
willing to let her children take her out to lunch to celebrate her
motherhood, to tell her how much they appreciate her as a
mother.

About a month ago Maddie watched an episode of “Davey and Goliath” in which little Sally has a dolly stroller parade with her friends. The idea enchanted Maddie and she begged for her own dolly stroller parade, so I ended up organizing one within our playgroup. We sent out the email, inviting everyone to decorate their dolly strollers or their bikes and meet us in the park for a parade to our house.

On fire with the idea, Maddie’s been talking about it almost daily ever since, and yesterday we finally had our First Annual Dolly Stroller and Bike Parade. We’ve been preparing for the past few weeks, starting with the overall “theme” to the stroller. It was a tough decision, but Maddie finally decided to allow Abby Cadabby to ride in the dolly stroller, apologizing to her several Elmos profusely – “Guys, you’re just not dollies, and this is a dolly stroller parade! Ok, guys?” We raided the crafting store (God bless Texas and our crafting mega-stores!) and bought out everything they had in pink, purple, and blue feathers, sequins, and ribbons. Maddie practiced walking around playing her kazoo while pushing the dolly stroller. We’re talking hard-core preparations here.

We were heading to church on Sunday when
Maddie and I had a conversation that reminded me once again what a
smart kid she is.


I’d spent the past few days baking, stockpiling several dozen
cookies to donate to our church for a big neighborhood outreach
project they’ve got going on. Maddie, of course, has helped
when possible, though her motives are not entirely pure since
she’s always angling to lick the beaters. And as we’ve
baked we’ve talked about why were baking, since she is deeply
interested in understanding why baked goods are going out of the
house instead of into her tummy.

Both of my girls were born without much
hair to speak of – I guess it’s just a family thing.
And when Maddie was a baby, I didn’t want to be one of those
women who glue a bow to their bald kid’s head, so I waited
until Maddie actually needed one before trying the hairclip thing.


Big mistake. By that time, Maddie was perhaps 18 months old and had
definite opinions about what did and didn’t look good, and
hair accessories fell soundly in the latter column. I spent the
next six months trying to coax any type of hair accessory onto
Madeleine’s head, having success at first with the head band,
then alligator clips, then (still reluctantly) the elastic rubber
bands. The fights were not small, but I kept trying since the
alternative was a face full of floppy hair and a girl who kept
running blindly into walls.

Offering yet more proof that children
really do listen to what we say, Maddie’s becoming quite the
little eco-conscious consumer.


The other day I set out to pile us post-pool into the shower for a
quick chlorine rinse, and turned on the water before stripping down
the girls. With our bathroom on the second floor and the water
heater in our garage, it can sometimes take a good two minutes for
the hot water to reach us. Maddie looked at the empty, running
shower and said, “Why did you turn the water on before we get
in?”


Struggling to peel a swim diaper off a snug wet hiney, I said,
“Well, we need the water to get hot first so we’re not
cold when we get wet.”


Maddie looked anxiously at the empty shower, the water running down
the drain, and said, “But you’re wasting all that
water, Mommy! Turn it off now!”

Cora’s got a half-dozen or so
“words” going on now – Mama, Dada, ‘Amma
(Gamma), Mah-Mah (Maddie), bye-bye, ball. Or should I say,
she’s got a half-dozen or so words we can understand, since
Cora’s actual vocabulary count seems to run in the hundreds:
that girl can take a breath and talk nonstop for sixty seconds,
pointing and gesturing the whole time, before running out of steam.
I’ve learned to jump into the conversation quickly during a
breath pause, lest it become a monologue instead of a two-person
scene.


And my job, by the way, in these conversations, is simply to guess
what she’s trying to say and repeat it so she can confirm or
deny the rumors of her intentions. “A gabba gabba goo goo
durah mah!” she’ll say. “You want to go outside
and play?” I’ll guess. “Deh!” she’ll
confirm, saying yes.

We are still in the throes of nudging a
resistant Maddie into using the big-girl potty, and I’m
beginning to fear that my jokes about Maddie still wearing diapers
in kindergarten may well have a whiff of reality about them.


And on the heels of that statement, let me thoroughly confuse you
and say that my daughter is completely potty trained; she simply
refuses to use the toilet.