I have a running mental list of things to blog about, but they rarely make it to the blog. So I’m going to start doing posts like this one, where I just put a bunch of small (or not-so-small) slices of our life into one post.
We were driving in the car with the whole family plus Anna’s aunt Jessica. Jessica had some bottled iced tea with and asked if Jen (Mrs. Piggy) wanted it. Jen looked at the ingredients and said that it had honey and no thanks. So Jessica said she’d have it. Here’s what came next:
Anna: Is that vegan?
Anna: But you’re drinking it?
Anna: Oh. You not be vegan?
Anna: Oh. That’s wrong.
I swear, I never told her to say that. These are the kind of interactions that will ostracize her once she starts school, so I actually told her that instead she could say something like, “oh, I’m vegan,” or something less judgmental and confrontational.
We are pretty non-confrontational parents. I mean, we’ll talk to someone about veganism if they bring it up, and we bring it up if the situation is apt. But we don’t make it a point to tell people they’re wrong for not being vegan.
So … that’s our girl. I have a feeling she’s going to be calling us out on stuff that we never even thought of when she gets older.
Anna was looking at the “Grandma Rocks” pillow we got when her great grandma passed away and she was looking at the rocking chair, noticing how it matches the real rocking chair that we also got from her great grandma when she died. She started to make up a story about the picture of the chair on the pillow.
“I think they got the rocking chair because it was from a boy who died and they took it.”
“Who got the rocking chair?” I asked.
“The people on the pillow. They got the chair because the boy died.”
I got a little weirded out that she said “boy” instead of “old man” or something. And I didn’t see the connection she was making between the picture of the rocking chair and the real rocking chair we got from her great grandma. So I said:
“I think it’s just a picture of a rocking chair. I don’t think there’s a story behind it.”
She flips the pillow over and looks at the other side. “No, there’s no story behind it.”
And then I laughed and she ran to her bedroom. I made a point to apologize for not understanding the connection she was making and commending her for her imagination. The girl is too smart for me sometimes.
I remember saying things that made complete sense in my head when I was a kid and not being able to explain it clearly enough to an adult to make them understand. I hated that feeling (hell, I still do). So … I make every effort possible to understand my daughter.
Our friend Erin (Tony’s wife) was coming over to drop off our half of the CSA share and Anna said, “I really like Erin and Tony. They’re nice guys.”
Then she paused for a second and corrected herself: “Tony’s a nice guy. Erin’s a nice person.”
She’s been accurately using pronouns for almost as long as she’s been talking, but she’s just now realizing what they mean and how they work. It’s fun to watch.
A few days ago, Anna was snuggling with her blankey bear after a nap and I asked her if blankey bear is a boy or a girl or just a blankey bear.
“He’s a boy,” she said.
“She’s a boy?” I repeated, because it sort of sounded like she said that.
“No! He’s a boy!”
“Oh,” I said, “that would have been funny if you had said, ‘she’s a boy.’”
And then Anna laughed uncontrollably for a few minutes, repeating, “she’s a boy,” over and over. She got it and she thought it was hilarious.
About ten minutes later she walked back up to her bed and looked at blankey bear and said, through giggling anticipation, trying to hold it all together, “I’m going to say it again.” And then she did. Sort of. As much as she could have while convulsing with laughter.
I forgot to blog this a while back. I recorded this exchange immediately after it happened because I found it hilarious (I love the “memo” function on my cell phone).
A fly was buzzing around Anna’s bedroom.
Anna: Can you catch it daddy? And put it outside?
Me: I don’t think you can catch a fly, Anna. You either have to kill it or-
Anna (cutting me off mid-sentence): Kill it.
It was funny, but also a bit disturbing. I don’t have a problem killing house flies (or spiders, or fruit flies, centipedes, millipedes, crickets… you get the point) as long as they’re uninvited guests in my home. Usually with spiders though, we’ll catch it and let it go outside. At least when Anna’s watching. So, anyway, the fact that she was so all about killing the fly caught me off guard. It was hard not to laugh.
Anna in the back seat of the car one day: “We better hold on! Daddy’s driving!”
Last night on the way home from Royal Orchid (possibly the best Thai restaurant I’ve ever eaten at), Liam would look at Anna in the back seat and make a noise. Anna would repeat the noise and then they would both forcefully giggle for thirty seconds. Repeat for about ten minutes and that was most of our ride home. It was awesome.
Yesterday I gave Anna a science lesson. I used one of her stuffed dogs to illustrate that things fall. I held him up and asked her what was going to happen when I dropped the dog. She said, "I don't know." So I dropped it and it fell and I said, "It fell to the floor." Same thing again. And then the third time when I asked her what was going to happen she said, "It's going to fall to the floor!"
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"How can you be sure?"
"I don't know," she said in her way that tells me she actually does know, but doesn't know how, or doesn't feel like, expressing it.
So I told her that she's knows because that's what happened all the other times. Then I told her that things fall because of gravity. Five minutes later we were both lying on the floor pretending we couldn't get up because we were on Jupiter. Then we got up because we were on Earth. And then I lifted her up and had her jump high and far because we were on the moon, all the while explaining that there is more or less gravity depending on the size of things.
She might have absorbed ten percent of what I was telling her. And that's enough for me. It's worth it. It's fun.