On the way to Ms. Connie's, you were "cooking" in a bowl you had in the back. "A little milk, some oatmeal, a cup of salt, hashbrowns, eggs, syrup..."you mumbled as you mixed. It sounded very breakfast-y, indeed.
When we passed the "little" school, you asked if I would be there today. Yes, I replied. "I wonder what you'll learn about," you mused, sounding a bit jealous. You can't wait to go to school, and I think you picture me as a student instead of a teacher. I do learn quite a bit each day!
On the way to Nana's, you pondered making potties for birds, you know, "so they don't poop on your car."
We held hands to pray before dinner and we asked, "Who's going to pray?" "Not me!" you piped up, "I have to eat a little during prayer." We teased you a bit, and you did pray, but you did try to snag a bite between words (face to plate, because your hands were both being held).
I asked you how you were making breakfast (so that Nana, Pap, and Uncle John could hear). You spelled it out for them, with a little twist this time. (After all, true chefs change it up all the time, right?) "You make oatmeal with milk, and syrup, hotdogs, sugar..." "What about salt?" asked JW, who had been prepped beforehand by me. "NO!" she said, incredulously, "There is no salt in oatmeal!" (But there are hotdogs, apparently...)
I heard you telling Pap that you want to be a bunny when you grow up. I missed the rest of the conversation because I was gathering up things to head home. Once we were in the car, you said, "I want to be a bird when I grow up. I wanted to be a bunny, but Pap said I can't be one, so I think I will like to be a bird."
On the way home, Little A was tired and emitting a continuous, loud whine. "A, you need to stop whining," I said, going a little batty with all the noise. That propelled her into a full-fledged crying fit. "Oh great," I thought, as my sweet Lucy said, "I think she misses her Grandma." That really could be. How kind of you to think of it. Sadly, I was slow to feel compassion, and got after A again: "That's enough!" You were indignant. "Mama, you can't say 'that's enough' to her when she is missing her Grandma!" you cried. Then you turned to the little one, loudly crying in the seat next to you and talked to her sweetly until she stopped crying. Precious, precious child. I'll catch on one of these days.
Joy Belle, I love how your brain thinks! You are such a fun mix of big and little right now. I love your kind heart! I love being your Mama.
When we passed the "little" school, you asked if I would be there today. Yes, I replied. "I wonder what you'll learn about," you mused, sounding a bit jealous. You can't wait to go to school, and I think you picture me as a student instead of a teacher. I do learn quite a bit each day!
On the way to Nana's, you pondered making potties for birds, you know, "so they don't poop on your car."
We held hands to pray before dinner and we asked, "Who's going to pray?" "Not me!" you piped up, "I have to eat a little during prayer." We teased you a bit, and you did pray, but you did try to snag a bite between words (face to plate, because your hands were both being held).
I asked you how you were making breakfast (so that Nana, Pap, and Uncle John could hear). You spelled it out for them, with a little twist this time. (After all, true chefs change it up all the time, right?) "You make oatmeal with milk, and syrup, hotdogs, sugar..." "What about salt?" asked JW, who had been prepped beforehand by me. "NO!" she said, incredulously, "There is no salt in oatmeal!" (But there are hotdogs, apparently...)
I heard you telling Pap that you want to be a bunny when you grow up. I missed the rest of the conversation because I was gathering up things to head home. Once we were in the car, you said, "I want to be a bird when I grow up. I wanted to be a bunny, but Pap said I can't be one, so I think I will like to be a bird."
On the way home, Little A was tired and emitting a continuous, loud whine. "A, you need to stop whining," I said, going a little batty with all the noise. That propelled her into a full-fledged crying fit. "Oh great," I thought, as my sweet Lucy said, "I think she misses her Grandma." That really could be. How kind of you to think of it. Sadly, I was slow to feel compassion, and got after A again: "That's enough!" You were indignant. "Mama, you can't say 'that's enough' to her when she is missing her Grandma!" you cried. Then you turned to the little one, loudly crying in the seat next to you and talked to her sweetly until she stopped crying. Precious, precious child. I'll catch on one of these days.
Joy Belle, I love how your brain thinks! You are such a fun mix of big and little right now. I love your kind heart! I love being your Mama.
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