Thursday, February 21, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
Verbal
"Can I move my chair?" asks Charlie in polite, winning tones. He wants to sit on top of the dishwasher to help me make playdough.
"Yes," I say.
"Oh, good. How convenient!" he answers with relief. "'Cause I'm making angel surprise cake with rasperry fluff icing. And frosting. Icing and frosting. For Grandma."
Seriously? Convenient? The kid started talking, like, last week. I just can't keep up.
"Yes," I say.
"Oh, good. How convenient!" he answers with relief. "'Cause I'm making angel surprise cake with rasperry fluff icing. And frosting. Icing and frosting. For Grandma."
Seriously? Convenient? The kid started talking, like, last week. I just can't keep up.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Egg
Charlie is 3. Quintessentially 3. It's an intense time. He's growing and changing in wild spurts, poking at the boundaries of his world, boomeranging out away from me and crashing back. He needs his Mom frequently, but like any good artist he tells his truth slant. It goes something like this.
He melts down into child's pose and says in a muffled voice, "I'm an egg. Pick me up and put me on the couch. No, the big couch." "My dear little egg," I reply, snuggling him closely. "How I love my egg! I love to hold my dear little egg and keep it warm. I can't wait until my egg hatches and I can see my little hatchling's face." I've learned not to say "Charlie" because he isn't always being Charlie. Sometimes it's Max or George.
Slowly, he emerges from behind his hands and uncurls his legs. "Hello, my hatchling!" I croon. "Welcome to the world."
We take a long, deep, quiet breath together.
I think, if I ever have Alzheimer's and live in fragments of the past... please let this be one. That would be OK.
Then zippity zap, he bounds off again. Usually to ride his tricycle (aka the zoopercar) madly around the house. Did you know that if you pour flour on the kitchen floor and ride a trike through it as many times as possible while Mom's taking a leak you can disseminate it nearly evenly throughout a 1200 square foot house? Science is fun!
He melts down into child's pose and says in a muffled voice, "I'm an egg. Pick me up and put me on the couch. No, the big couch." "My dear little egg," I reply, snuggling him closely. "How I love my egg! I love to hold my dear little egg and keep it warm. I can't wait until my egg hatches and I can see my little hatchling's face." I've learned not to say "Charlie" because he isn't always being Charlie. Sometimes it's Max or George.
Slowly, he emerges from behind his hands and uncurls his legs. "Hello, my hatchling!" I croon. "Welcome to the world."
We take a long, deep, quiet breath together.
I think, if I ever have Alzheimer's and live in fragments of the past... please let this be one. That would be OK.
Then zippity zap, he bounds off again. Usually to ride his tricycle (aka the zoopercar) madly around the house. Did you know that if you pour flour on the kitchen floor and ride a trike through it as many times as possible while Mom's taking a leak you can disseminate it nearly evenly throughout a 1200 square foot house? Science is fun!
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Holiday
Charlie has been experimenting with the concepts of regular days and "special" days. We have a cabinet full of unusual dishes that is designated the Holiday cabinet. He longs to open it. "Is today a holiday?" he'll ask, inching towards the cabinet, hand outstretched in hopeful anticipation. Unfortunately for him, the answer is hardly ever "yes".
So he's decided to make up his own. "Today is Climbing Day," he announced last week as he scaled the radiator behind my chair at dinner. "I can climb up here because it's Climbing Day today." My immediate retort of, "no, today is not Climbing Day," caused him to smile. Charlie knows that you win the argument by framing the argument.
Since then we have witnessed the declarations of TV Day, Naked Day, and Coke Day. Just as it was getting old, he shifted to a focus on the clock. "Six o'clock!" he announced this morning. "Time for chocolate!"
(well. just a little chocolate.)
So he's decided to make up his own. "Today is Climbing Day," he announced last week as he scaled the radiator behind my chair at dinner. "I can climb up here because it's Climbing Day today." My immediate retort of, "no, today is not Climbing Day," caused him to smile. Charlie knows that you win the argument by framing the argument.
Since then we have witnessed the declarations of TV Day, Naked Day, and Coke Day. Just as it was getting old, he shifted to a focus on the clock. "Six o'clock!" he announced this morning. "Time for chocolate!"
(well. just a little chocolate.)
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