What am I thankful for?
An incredibly sweet little soul…
A spunky and thoughtful little buddy…
And an enthusiastic, and very patient, partner, who has made this very rich life possible.
Travelingjenny
Navigating the hilly terrain of motherhood
about
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"Grace, what are you thankful for?"
"My baby sister."
"I think she’s thankful for you, too."
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The following were Grace’s exuberant statements, questions and general exclamations (in the order in which they were uttered) in reaction to today’s snowfall – our first snow of the season:
When we get home I’m going to make snow angels!
Mommy, look, that bird is flying south!
Mommy, the pond has ice all over it. Did you see it? Did you see it?
Aaaah – snow! Aaaah – snow! Aaaah – snow! Aaaah – snow… Why do I keep saying that?
Mommy, how many snows do I have on me?
I was outside playing, and my dog was too, and now she has so much snowy all over her that you can’t see any black fur!
We really need blankets now!
It’s snowing completely – even in the woods and on the trees and on the driveway – it’s snowing everywhere!
Aaaah – snow! Aaaah – snow! Aaaah – snow! Aaaah – snow… Why am I so excited about the snow?
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Friday morning, Grace declared: "I’m all growed up!" The excitement of being "three-and-three-quarters" has given way to the euphoria of having a birthday around the corner. Later, when Grace was not behaving appropriately, I remarked that she was really not behaving "all growed up," as she had so recently claimed to be. She replied: "I only said I was all growed up because I looked so pretty." She’s right. She did look pretty (see above photo). And "growed up" – but not all growed up, thank goodness. I’m not ready for that yet – and thankfully, neither is she.
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In an attempt to encourage the development of Tess’s artistic abilities – since she has a genetic disadvantage in this area – we have been exposing her to various types of art media. You know, the important ones: crayons, markers, stickers and play-doh. Her current favorite is markers. I have no idea why, but she likes to put the marker in her mouth. And then she makes a yucky face. And then she puts it in her mouth again. And then she attempts to run around the house with the capless marker in her hand. Once I have convinced her to sit back down, she likes to practice putting the top on the marker. Then she asks me to take the top back off (by pulling on the top and grunting, then looking at me). And then she puts the top back on. And then… you get the picture. But it’s very sweet watching her figure out how things work – and whether or not they should be eaten.
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This morning, I told Tess it was time to go to the store. So she found her shoes, all by herself, and tried to put them on. She couldn’t quite manage it, but she did get a good leg workout. And besides, I’m in no hurry for her to master such skills yet. Tess seems to be growing up way too fast as it is – that’s what happens when you have a cool big sister to copy.
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It is a family rule to remove one’s shoes when entering the house. This is part of an effort to keep the house clean, because when was the last time you saw me with a vacuum? Or a mop (do we even own a mop)? And we all know that there is plenty of dog hair to adorn the floor – we don’t need mud or leaves or dirt to add extra beauty. Because we live with someone who is "three and three-quarters" and likes to accidentally forget the rules, I am constantly saying "don’t forget to take your shoes off" as we enter the house. And then later I trip over all of the randomly strewn about shoes in the entryway. At any rate, the other day something special happened. I walked in the door, plopped Tess down in the entryway, and walked into the kitchen to set down the five million things I was carrying. And when I turned around, Tess was sitting on the floor taking off her own tiny shoes. All by herself, and without any prompting. We have ourselves a little rule-follower. A kid after mommy’s own heart. I may be able to cling to my sanity after all.
Happy eighteen-month birthday, Tess. And thank you.
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Oh wait, it’s actually only day #6. My, how time does not fly when your kids are sick! Grace is better, but now Tess is suffering. I’m not sure which is worse – a three-and-three-quarters year old who sobs and tells you how badly her throat hurts, or a seventeen-month old who cries a very hoarse cry and simply whimpers, "Mommy." The good part of all this at-home togetherness we’ve been experiencing is that the girls have been playing very nicely with each other. And, for the first time, Grace invited Tess into her "special place" in the playroom – a corner previously rendered inaccessible to babies by a strategically placed toy bin – where she keeps all of her "special things". So maybe we haven’t yet overcome the plague, but we do seem to have entered into a new era of sisterhood – one where Grace actually wants to share her things with Tess. Let’s just hope this new spirit of generosity isn’t due to tylenol-induced delirium.
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Because of my not-the-most-fun-ever week at home with the girls, I was given a break today. Yes, a blissful two hours all to myself. And for some odd reason, I chose to spend those two hours in Freeport. The biggest tourist destination in Maine. On a holiday weekend. At the start of Christmas shopping season. Smart thinking. Really though, I had a nice time. I didn’t have to answer silly questions, or wipe anyone’s nose, navigate the crowds with a stroller, or haul around a bag full of snacks. I did, however, have to deal with tourists. Now, I realize I am short on patience after caring for a sick three-and-three-quarters year old nonstop for what seems like an eternity, but I think it was truly obnoxious for the (Canadian) guy behind me in line at the natural foods store to ask the cashier if they take Canadian money. What a minute, did I just get so caught up in the joy of driving by myself and blasting my own music that I ended up in Canada?! I don’t think so, mister! Last time I checked, Maine is not in Canada!! And Freeport is not even that close to the border. I mean, it does get pretty cold here, and there are lots of trees and flannel shirts and people with funny accents, but this is not Canada!! Geez, even my three-and-three-quarters year old knows the answer to that question!
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"Grace, why are you putting all of that clay in a bowl?"
"I’m making pretend soup for a family that needs soup."
That kid has a big heart. And an active imagination. A couple of days ago, when I was prodding her to eat her breakfast, she responded: "But Mommy, I’m still full from the pretend pie I ate in the middle of the night." Ah yes, pretend pie. It keeps me up at night, too.
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By the way, Gracie must have eaten some pretend get-well-quick pills last night, because today she felt much better. She could barely talk, but at least she felt like playing, eating and even bopping her sister on the head. Phew.
Travelingjenny 
