The Problem With Expectations

J was trying to convince the girls to go with him yesterday to WalMart so I could get a little peace and quiet.  (I have so enjoyed our long weekend with him with no real plans.  He's filled all his girls' love tanks plumb full.)  My girls don't thrill to the idea of going to WalMart, so he had his work cut out for him.

A was quite the negotiator.  She informed him that Mom could go get the bicycle tire he needed and he could stay home and play with them.  Normally, a win/win accomplishing the same goal of peace and quiet.  However, Mom did not want to go out in the heat or waddle around WalMart.  But that didn't stop her from trying.

She came to the door of the laundry room where I was shuffling baby clothes into the dryer and announced with confidence, "Dad needs a new bicycle tire from WalMart and I expect you to go get it."  See how that's the problem with expectations?  If you expect anything, you should equally expect to be disappointed.

She came home from her trip to WalMart with flowers and chocolates for Mom.  I didn't expect that!

Remarkable Phenomenon

Ah, quiet time.  It's really not meant for a 2-year-old, I don't think.  She is still just scary enough that I'm afraid to leave her unsupervised, but I need that break.  She got close to climbing out of her crib one too many times, so she's on the floor now with the whole room at her fingertips...including the built-in shelving unit with cabinets full of toys.  So far, she hasn't started pulling everything out or climbing the shelves, but I know it's just a matter of time.

I will say that she is doing well with quiet time.  She is no more cranky in the afternoon than she is in the morning, so I can't blame her defiance on no nap.  She's just two.

The one thing I have noticed that changes after quiet time is her volume.  It's rather remarkable.  When her timer starts beeping at the end of quiet time, she begins yelling, "Mommy!  My timer!  Come!  It's beeping! Come get me!  Mommy!"  And her volume remains at that level for hours.  It's as if she's afraid to be quiet again lest she fall asleep.

She did this a few days ago when we were at the store with Daddy.  We could not get her to be quiet for all the threats in our kingdom.  Nor for all the consequences at our disposal.  She just could not use her inside voice.  The more tired (tireder?) she gets, the louder she gets.  I suppose we're using all of our "quiet" during that one hour of the day and it's too much to ask to save some for later.  I'll take that trade-off, though, and keep repeating my daily mantra, "Turn your volume down.  Turn your volume down."

Disneyland

I have resisted the commercial marketing machine that is all things Disney the best I can.  My attempts have proven futile, unfortunately.  We are swimming in Disney princesses around here and we also love Lightning McQueen and his friends.  But I really can't buy into the idea of spending a year's worth of college tuition on a vacation to the family mecca that is a Disney theme park.  Until...

Every morning when A wakes up, we have a little conversation about how she slept, if she had any dreams, what we're doing that day, etc.  Recently, she was telling me about one of her dreams.  (Context: I don't think she has any clue that a Disney park exists.  But we have watched Peter Pan and she talks all the time about magical things that happen in Neverland.)  In her dream, "all my Little Pets were alive and all my Little Ponies and all the Disney princesses were there and they were alive!  And, Mom, it was called...Disneyland!"

The wonder in her eyes was enough to make me contemplate a second mortgage so we could go to this magical place and make her dream come true.  So that's how they hook you!  Help me now.

Make it Stop!

I've said for a long time that my four-year-old has the mouth of a teenager.  The sass and backtalk that she reserves for her mother keep me awake at night, scared of the potential for venomous growth by the time she is 16.  You don't believe me because she is all smiley and cute to everybody else.  I know this is my payback for all those horrible things I said when I thought my mom couldn't hear.  (I'm so, so sorry, Mom.  But please, is there any way to make it stop?)

She has mastered the art of dramatic over-generalizations.  For example, I will say, "Please put your shoes and socks on so we can leave."  To which she will reply, "Okay.  I'll put my shoes and socks on and never, ever play again for the rest of the year!"  Or I'll suggest, "Don't lean into your sister's seat like that if you don't like her smacking you in the head."  She will counter with, "Do you only always want me to sit up straight like a robot and never, ever move?!"  (To which I will answer, "yes, please" which probably doesn't help.)  Or how about, "You have lots of stuffed animals; there is no need to fight over that particular puppy dog."  "Then I'll never have a turn, and she'll always have it and I'll never see it again ever!"

I kid you not.  I have added no extra "never/ever/always/only" for effect.  I really don't know where she is getting this, but more importantly, I don't know how to make it stop.  It's constant throughout our day, so pervasive that her little sister has started mimicking her to make her angry, "never, ever," with scrunched up nose and forceful voice.  I've started asking her if she is telling the truth, speaking with respect and love.  She always answers no, but I don't know how long it's going to take to break this really nasty habit.  And what kind of consequence do you give for dramatic sarcasm?  Help, Lord Jesus, help!!

Four Years Old

Dear A,

You turned four this month. I'm a little late making notes about it, because we spent so much time getting ready for your party and then recuperating. You wanted a princess party with princess cupcakes. I did my best to give you all you wanted without selling out to Disney.

You started reading last month, and I can't slow you down. You're sounding out street signs, billboards, and magazine headlines. Daddy has been reading chapter books to you at bedtime for a few months now and you soak up all the new vocabulary. Sometimes I hear you narrating your play and it sounds so sophisticated.

You love to color, especially with markers. You make a picture for somebody at least once a day. You send them to the office with Daddy, mail them to cousins and grandmas, and still I have a big stack to sneak out of the house somehow. Your drawings are taking shape with recognizable people and houses, suns and flowers.

You have successfully quit sucking your thumb and got to paint your nails for the first time as a reward. 
You're still stuck on a sippy cup, but I'm working on phasing that one out, too. Your afternoon nap is becoming less regular without the help of your thumb to go to sleep. You've been enjoying quiet time every other day or so. At night, you want to sleep on the top bunk and sometimes you even make it to sleep without your beloved meatsy.

You ask so many, really good questions. "Where did the white plug in C's room come from? (electrical plug) Why do some kids have the same as me and others don't? (referring to body parts) Mommy, do you have a baby in your tummy or did you eat too much ice cream? (the latter, unfortunately)"

You're a great big sister, very helpful when you want to be. But it's hard to play with C sometimes, because she just doesn't understand your rules yet and you are all about the rules. You'll have to learn how to work things out with her because she's getting big and she's not afraid to hurt you. Today you made a "park" for her in the living room with lots of things you thought she would enjoy. You promised that she could play however she wanted and you wouldn't get angry. That was a very big gesture on your part.

I'm really trying to work with you right now to be a smidge less dramatic. You tend to have huge reactions to little problems, and the resulting battle is very draining. So then the next meltdown is a little bigger and the whole thing kind of snowballs our day. You have so many words, so it's really frustrating when you resort to flailing around on the floor and screaming. With God's help, we'll smooth out that rough edge before your next birthday.

I am so proud to call you my daughter and feel blessed beyond measure that God has placed you in our family. I pray we will have the wisdom and love to cultivate your soul into the beautiful masterpiece He has envisioned.

Squeakish

A has invented her own language. You can't understand it; lots of q's and w's. She has tried to educate her father and I on the finer points of communicating in this language, telling us how to say certain words. I imagine this is how an English-language learner feels because the sound of the words keeps changing every time we try to pronounce them.

Saturday morning as we all hung out in the driveway, J decided to give her language the name "Squeakish" since her nickname is Squeaker. She thought that was grand. She promptly declared herself a Squeakish-princess-who-runs-fast and gave us a coronation speech in Squeakish. She carried on for quite awhile, doing races with daddy and riding her toys. I did something that offended her delicate sensibilities, though, and she proceeded to let me have it in Squeakish.

Now I generally cannot tolerate a disrespectful preschooler and I knew what was spewing out of her heart even if the words didn't compute. But the whole scene was so absurd with her screwed-up face and outstretched hand and wacky words, that I couldn't help but collapse on the concrete laughing. The princess was none too pleased with this response and I'm pretty sure I was banished from the kingdom of Squeakish. I also had to apologize for laughing at her and ask her to forgive me. We did all that in English, though.

Who knew?!

In case you didn't believe me about all the belly button and banana peel jokes that go on around here in a given day...

If you didn't catch the original lyrics, I think the real moral comes at the end, "God is a belly button and he has belly button hair, too. He has banana peel slippers. Ooo." I don't know about you, but I'm glad my theology can handle a little belly button hair. Ew.

C's gonna need a wipe

Tonight I did one of the dumbest things I think I have ever done as a parent. We had a very spontaneous, relaxed day out on the town today and ended with a quick trip to Home Depot. We had promised A a special dessert, so we grabbed candy bars at the check-out. She was thrilled when we handed it to her in the car. Of course, C is cognizant now of things like this and wanted her rightful share. So, I obliged. I handed a big chunk of sticky, stringy, warm Twix bar to my toddler in her car seat.

J kept an eye on her in the rearview mirror to make sure she could handle it and it didn't seem to be a problem. When A had finished her portion, she dutifully cleaned her hands and mouth with a wipe. Shortly thereafter as we approached our street, A announced, "O-o-oh, yeah, C's gonna need a wipe!" Her tone was so incredulous that J and I just busted out laughing.

Sure enough, when we got home and I surveyed the damage, I realized that a trip to the kitchen sink was in order. And at least one baby doll will need a run through the washing machine. Since tomorrow is church, I don't really have time to wash the car seat cover, so I did the best I could with wipes. I realized it was a dumb move on my part as I was picking caramel out of the canvas buckle strap.

One day, hopefully soon, I will come to terms with the fact that I have two very different little girls. One would almost prefer to dispose of the chocolate bar if it presents too high of a messy risk. The other will go looking for tactile experiences and submerse herself fully in any mess so as to absorb all possible sensory information. I know this somewhere in my head, but sometimes it just doesn't translate to my actions. And when that happens, C's gonna need a wipe!

Never enough pink

I was happy to help out a friend who needed child care early this morning. It's a good thing that J had to leave for his weekly men's prayer coffee about the same time our little friend was arriving because the pink level in this house just exploded. Shortly after I turned off the morning tv show, I heard K ask A, "Let's go get dressed. What kind of clothes do you have?" They then disappeared into A's room and all I could hear was,

"What about polka-dots? I like the polka-dots."

"I think I'm going to do the flower shorts."

"Ooh, yeah, I like those."

"Let's find some shoes, too."

"I have two pairs of crocs...pink and purple, my favorites."

"How about sandals? I like the sandals."

"Oh, those are pretty!"

Too funny!

I called them to breakfast and after they finished, they asked if they could go outside. I told them I thought the neighbors would appreciate it if we waited until at least 8 am to take this show outside. "Okay, we'll go brush each other's hair." Good luck with that, K, cause it usually causes fits of holy terror when I try to brush A's hair. I give 'em six more months before they're asking to paint each other's toenails. Pink, pink, pink, pink, pink!

Daddy got schooled!

Bedtime exchange between J and A:

J: I love you all the way to the moon and back.

A: Well, I love you all the way to Thailand and back.

J: The moon is further than Thailand.

A: No it's not, Dad. I can go outside and see the moon, but I can't see Thailand. The moon's just right there.

J: You're a very smart little girl.

A: You're not a very smart daddy if you think Thailand's closer than the moon. I'm just kidding. You're a smart daddy,...but you're just wrong.

Growing Up

My babies are growing up really fast. I know that is so cliche to say, sorry. A has started sleeping on the top bunk and loves it. This time last year, we were fighting to get her out of her crib so her baby sister could have it. And she's going to have surgery in a few weeks! In my mind, for whatever reason, that takes away just a little bit of her childlike innocence. It's hard to maintain that the world is pure and unblemished once you've had surgery.

She's also really gotten interested in skirts and dresses. She picks one out to wear almost every day. They have to be tested for their swoosh-ability. Then they are showcased for Daddy. There have been a couple of occasions when I've pantomimed behind her back to help him notice whatever lovely thing she donned for his homecoming. He's learning quickly, though. She recently told me--after seeing her babysitter's pretty painted fingernails--that she wanted to paint her toenails either green or brown. I was surprised it wasn't pink or purple, but told her that I would need to talk to Daddy about whether or not she is old enough to paint her toenails. To which she replied with the biggest eye roll, "but Mo-om, I'm three and a half!" Yes, baby girl, that is my point exactly.

C is growing fast, too. Nothing like that first haircut to launch you out of babyhood. She's working on her fifth tooth and is starting to realize that she can stand independently. I never would have imagined it would take her this long to walk. But more significantly, she has dropped her morning nap. Almost spontaneously, she just flipped a switch and wasn't doing that any more. If I try to put her down for "quiet time" in the morning, she'll rest for about five minutes before she starts fussing. Then her afternoon nap is a total wash for having that pause in the morning. Crazy kid. She's giving the sweetest kisses now. You get a slow approach as your warning, then just a gentle rest on your cheek. That slow, gentle approach is how you know it's a kiss and not a head bonk.

Savor it, Sarah. Soak it in. Take note. Stop and stare. Thank you, Lord, thank you.

Women's Lip

I've gotten a couple of golden quotes from my little lady-in-waiting recently.  Last week, she saw a show about mommies with all different types of jobs--archeologist mommies, doctor mommies, teacher mommies.  At lunch that day, she started talking about what she wanted to be when she grew up, maybe a doctor or a firefighter.  Then she asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up.  "Well," I told her, "I'm already all grown up and I am exactly what I have always wanted to be...a mommy."  "And do nothing?!" was her incredulous reply.  Ha!

Clean-up time seems to be a dramatic disaster waiting to happen lately.  So this afternoon, I had A practice cleaning up before Daddy got home.  (He usually cleans up with her after supper.)  We even tried to get C to participate.  It was a true girl-power team effort.  After supper she asked Dad if he would play a board game with her.  He said there would be time to play one game if her room was not too messy.  "Is there much to clean up?" he asked.  "No, Dad, the women already cleaned it up."  Of course they did!  Mommy had nothing else going on, right?

Hawk Shoe

Some recent funnies from our eldest:

A: Mommy, pretend to be asleep so I can wake you up.
Mom: I can't really close my eyes right now because I'm feeding C her cereal. That could get messy.
A: Well, then you just have to hawk shoe.
Mom: Hmm?
A: Like this...haaawk, shooooo, haaaawk, shooo.

Dad to Mom as we approached the front door: Got your keys handy?
A (with utter disbelief and confusion): Why'd you call her Handy?

Her prayers are getting quite impressive. She thanks God for the trees and the grass, asks for more rain so the flowers (weeds) in our yard will get bigger, thanks Him for all the good things He gives us, prays for anybody we know that might be sick and a few who might be healthy. Today, at lunch time, I knew she'd been paying attention to my prayers when she added a line on behalf of Mrs. B (one of our good friends), "Please help her to be umpliant (compliant) to her children." Thank you, Father, that the Holy Spirit interprets our groanings for us.

My personal favorite has been an ongoing conversation inspired by the book "Guess How Much I Love You." She recently told me, "Mom, I love you all the way to the moon." Of course, I replied, "I love you all the way to the moon and back again." Some of her other replies to try to top mine:
-I love you all the way to the sun, then to the moon and back again.
-I love you all the way to China and then the ice cream store.
-I love you all the way to the moon, back to Thailand and across the river.

Pink Arrow First

A's latest milestone came while tussling with Daddy on the couch this afternoon. He gave her a hearty tickle to which she protested, "Stop, stop, stop, Daddy! You're messing up my hair!" To my knowledge that is the first time she threw a flag on the play due to hair interference. (I have to mix in some sports metaphors to make up for the lack of actual sports being played in our house--Wii bowling doesn't count.)

J isn't much of a hunter (which I am ever so grateful for), so I don't think that is a sport that he is missing with his daughters. The only hunting that goes on around here is some intense hide-and-seek. We play at least three times a day. A has even learned that Mommy can play "just with your eyes" if my hands are otherwise employed. J says he might could keep up the hunt a little longer if A wasn't so obvious, "Okay, Daddy, you count to ten and I'm going to go hide in the pantry."

And our final pink milestone for the day...J asked me to teach A how to play bunko! Can you imagine?! I hadn't even thought of it as a viable pre-school game, but he knew she could do it and it approximates a board game (one of his favorite pastimes). Sure enough, she caught the fever. I can hear them at the table now, "I got one 2, Mom!" I told her that three of a kind makes a bunko and she was the perfect pupil when she rolled her first one. "BUNKO!" she yelled, practically quivering. J said the only difference between her and the noise at a usual bunko game is the size of her body. Notice he didn't say the size of her voice. Bunko, baby, BUNKO!

That Makes Me Sad

I was trying to prepare my own lunch today after having fed the girls. A busied herself with the little white board on our fridge. She was drawing up a storm, punctuating each creation with, "Look, Mom!" After about a dozen interruptions to admire her doodles, I finally said, "Babe, I can't look at every drawing, I'm trying to make my lunch." To which, she replied very matter-of-factly, "That makes me sad. I'm not going to draw anymore. I'm just going to go away." Of course, I felt like a total heel! I tried to back peddle a bit while she erased her last drawing, explaining that her drawings are lovely and I look as often as I can, but mommy needs a turn to eat lunch, too. She erased her drawing (so we could not enjoy it without her) and went to her room and closed the door. She wasn't ugly or overly dramatic about it (surprise, surprise), just not going to perform without an audience.

I have to admit that while I felt like an absolute schmuck because I hurt her feelings, I was a little grateful for the few minutes of silence. Lately, the playlist of my life has been stuck on repeat: "Watch this, Mommy! Watch this, Mommy! Watch this, watch this, watch this, Mommy!" I really cannot watch every time, nor do I want to. J was a little scared when he came home Friday night to find me in the midst of a breakdown, singing and dancing to my own little made-up "Watch this, Mommy!" song.

Fortunately, on both occasions, he swooped in to be the knight in shining armor for both of us. He took her to run errands Friday evening, giving me time to regain my sanity. And at lunch today, he went to her room and talked about how beautiful her pictures are even if no one sees them. I don't know if she bought it or not, but she eventually came out and announced, "I forgive you, Mommy." I apologized again for making her sad and she assured me, "That's okay, Mommy." Oh good, reconciliation. Then as she walked away, "Just don't let it happen again." Not making any promises on that one.

Allow me to introduce you...

Our little A is becoming such a young lady. Her vocabulary has always been noteworthy; but it never ceases to amaze me when she picks up on conversational contexts and fits right in with adult conversations. Yesterday evening we were at a church social, seated across the table from some visitors. We did the usual introductions and proceeded with our meal, only to be interrupted by her little voice, "This is J, he's my father; but I don't always call him that." No, I don't always claim him either. She paused for laughter, then proceeded, "This is Sarah, she's my mother and that is C, my baby sister." All with a regal flourish of her little hand in each of our general directions. So grown up!

A few days ago, she caught me getting dressed in my closet. I tried to get everything on before she got there, but to no avail. So, naturally, she wanted to know, "Mommy, what's that?" May as well be matter-of-fact about it. "It's a bra, part of Mommy's underwear." I'll spare you the long conversation about the differences between girl and boy underwear and their appropriate terminology. She concluded that "one day when I'm a lady, I'll wear a...uh...o...obruh." "A what?" Mommy wants to know. "An obruh." "An oprah?" "Yeah, yeah, an oprah!" Oh, honey, save Oprah and the bras for a few years yet, please?