the gourmand

Lucy is quite entranced by real tools--the tape dispenser, the pencil sharpener, and, now, the knives. Occasionally I let her cut things with a paring knife. Very soft things, like bananas and oranges. (Confession: I tried to let her cut a baby carrot, and was white-knuckling it while she very carefully tried to muscle her way through the slices. Surprisingly, three-year-olds do not have the hand strength for vegetables. Who knew?).

So, if you're going to cut a bunch of fruit, what do you make? Fruit salad, of course. The first time we made some, I directed the recipe: your standard bananas, oranges, apples and frozen blueberries.

Today, Lucy took over. And decided that the salad really needed some frozen peas.

A few notes:

1. It makes sense, really. Frozen blueberries: small, round, frozen. Peas: small, round. Also frozen.
2. They look nice in the mix. Very rainbow.
3. Peas: they're a fruit, right? Or are they more of a seed?
4. Lucy happily ate the mix.
5. I gamely tried it. For a moment, I thought, "What if it's a good combination? Who knows?"

However:

6. Not a good combination. Whether they're a fruit or not, they should not be combined with very finely-chopped bananas. Ick.

So what's next? Edamame and mango? Green beans with pear?

the archaeology of Mother Goose

Question: How do we know that Humpty Dumpty was an egg? It says nothing about a shell in the rhyme.

tired tired tired tired tired

I'm tired.

Today I'm am functional-tired, which is good. Better than the non-functioning tired of the weekend. But I do notice a lot more bumping into things, trouble forming coherent sentences, and general confusion. This morning I felt pretty good, but I still couldn't answer simple questions.

It's funny how quickly one goes from getting decent rest to, well, not. A few weeks ago, I was actually exercising after the kids went to bed.

Oh, those were the days.

A few more hours of rest last night made me feel human again, and a lot more optimistic about getting through the rest of this 3-month-old thing. My children, they do not sleep well at 3-4 months. So onward to the phases of infantdom I like better!

I had planned on being witty or at least specific with the imagery and concrete examples for this post, but instead, I am tired.

It will have to do.

the socks, they are breeding.

For Sale:
Two sets of little girl socks. One pair sized 0-6 months, one sized 3 yrs. These white socks look ordinary, but they are the only socks your kids will ever need--because of their patented Multiplyer (c) technology. Bring them into your house, and soon you will find sock clones* scattered throughout your living space, as if by magic! Under the couch! By the bed! Beside (but never in) the laundry basket! You'll marvel at the sheer proliferation of tiny white stockings!

*Even numbers of socks not included.

wow, it worked.

The too-tired Lucy melted down tonight as D took her out of her bath. The cause? He put conditioner in her hair earlier in the bath after she said she didn't want "shampoo" in her hair. When the bathtime was over, he got a delayed reaction to his failure to follow directions.

It was a doozy. Standing, stark naked in her bedroom, face red, screaming that she wanted it OUT OF HER HAIR GOING TO TAKE IT OUT PULLING IT OUT NO SHAMPOO while taking her hands and yanking (not too hard, but I was afraid there for a minute).

I pulled her into my lap and took the bath towel and said, "Should I wipe it all off with the towel?"
And just as suddenly as it started, the tantrum was over. She nodded, breathed with me a few times as I tried to finish calming her down, then said, "momma, I have a big runny nose. I need to wipe it."

So I "wiped off" all the "shampoo" and got the girl a tissue. And then put her to bed. Quickly, before there was another meltdown.

surprise! that's annoying!

In the always-growing list of things that surprise me about parenting, there are two things I wouldn't have guessed would be quite so annoying.
1. "Why?" I admit it--pre-kids, I thought, "What could be so annoying about a three-year-old asking "Why?" all the time? They're exploring their world! It's good to question!"

Hahahahaha. Forgive me while I laugh at my old self.

A real "Why" is perfectly fine. It's when it's used as sort of a default, "I don't want to" response to every request, like "Please hold my hand when we cross this busy parking lot" or "Please, don't put your hand into the molten lava" or "Please, keep the large stick out of your sister's eyes." (okay, examples two and three never happened). Or, when you've explained something five times, giving a reason--the same reason--five different ways, and there is still a why at the end. Then you feel like grabbing the large stick and poking it into your own eyes.

2. Pretend play involving small objects. Or paper. Or scissors. Or fabric. Or bags. Or pretty much any pretend play.
This is something I'm trying to get over as sort of a motherhood's spiritual practice. Because in theory, I want all this pretend play to happen. So:

Ommmm. Do not mind the mess and clutter and scrambling of items that were organized into their own separate containers and in relative order. It is Okay if the buttons are mixed with the coins and the small bits of thread and the shredded paper! It's Imagination at Work!
No we do not struggle with the beginning symptoms of OCD. Ahem.

Ommmm. Happily follow instructions when playing Fairy Godmother/Grocery Checkout Person/Dentist/Patient/Cinderella/Evil Stepsister, participating in the evolving "plot" without actually trying to assert any ideas that do not conform to the preschooler's vision of how the pretend play should unfold.

Ommmm. Happily take the folded/taped/stapled/shredded/cut pieces of ribbon/paper/masking tape/greeting cards and eat/scan/open/close the pizza/present/stethoscope as directed.

Ommmm. Ignore the growing pile of tiny items: fabric scraps, paper, cardboard, ribbon, tape, buttons, coins that appear on the carpet and under tables not five minutes after the carpet is vacuumed. Blocks are easy to pick up. Miniscule paper and fabric scraps diligently worked over with scissors? Not so much.

But, see, I try not to buy too many toys so that what we have, be it broom stick or paperclips can be a horse or a sword or doughnuts or pennies or whatever. So that Lucy makes her magic.

If only the magic were just a little bit tidier. And did not require endless repetition of the princess/doctor/grocery store/cooking script.

Note to self: patience with the above secret annoyances would be slightly left if my energy and awakeness were not entirely fueled by caffeine and willpower. Remind me again when I get to start sleeping somewhat regular hours again?

Actually, don't. Because it's gonna probably be awhile.

just to be clear

Turning on the TV to let L watch her morning dose ofSesame Street, Dyami found the local news.
"Is this Sesame Street?" he asked.
"No," L said. "That's people, not monsters."