The Elephant's Child

I Don't Always...

I don't always let my kid collect bottlecaps, but when I do, it makes us look like raging alcoholics.

The Perils of a Clever Child.

"Go get me my cell phone."

"Mommy, you can get that yourself.  That's why they're called self phones."

Legos

The Questions My Kid Asks.

"How do you think an atomic bomb tastes, other than being poison?"  

I Don't Know Either.

I just finished cleaning out SK's bed.  In it were all the tiny plastic cats, all the Mardi Gras beads, all the cats' dress-up clothes, three bed-size pillows, one throw pillow, sixty-four stuffed kitties of various sizes, one stuffed squirrel, one stuffed dog, a stuffed armadillo, and a stuffed volcano.  This is what it looks like now that I've cleaned up:

Remaining are the three bed pillows, two of which have names: Pillow One and Pillow Two; the stuffed volcano, whose name is Volcano, the throw pillow, all the tiny plastic kitties, now in a small tray near the head of the bed, and the sixty-four (!) stuffed kitties, all of whom have names, from Ask to Pizza to Snow Vell (not Snow Bell!) to Creamy, Itchy (my personal favorite) Hollow, Hollow Bucket, Oreo, Boris (he beats you up if you say his name out loud), and Fierce.

How on earth was she sleeping in that bed with all. that. stuff? 

And how on earth did we end up with sixty-four stuffed cats?

 

 

Life Imitates Art.

We were discussing cooperative children at supper the other night. A new person has joined an email list I participate in (I'm involved in several), and for this family everything is portrayed by the mom as really pretty easy. She's got a handle on things.  So much so, that the person is full of advice for everyone else. Alas, my poor child ran away from the dinner table in tears, "I feel horrible compared to those children!"

"Don't worry, Sparkle," I said, "Mommy feels pretty horrible next to that mom, too! But perfect children are kind of boring."

"You mean you like it when I'm naughty?"

"No, I don't. But you're funny and creative and interesting." We coaxed her back to the table, and continued with our dinner. Shortly, I noticed this on Sparkle's plate:

Those of you familiar with Calvin and Hobbes may recognize this creature.  It features prominently in several of Calvin's dinner-time battles with his parents over finishing what's on his plate.

"See?" I said, pointing to her plate. "The perfect children we were talking about would never make a monster like that."

The satisified smile on Sparkle's face was like a warm piece of apple pie. 

Whatever our difficulties raising this spunky, independent, creative, wickedly-clever kid, it's never, ever boring.

 

Alice in Wonderland.

Upon completion of Alice in Wonderland, which I finished reading to Sparkle Kitty just this morning, Sparkle Kitty said, "I would have gotten on better than Alice."

This kid never fails to crack me up.

That's His Name.

Someone found my box of Magnetic Poetry the other week.  Magnetic Poetry + tape = hilarity.

Microchip.

"Ouch. There's this spot on my chest that hurts sometimes."

"Yeah, I put a microchip in there"

"You did not."

"I did. While you were sleeping."

"Ok, what does it do?"

"It detects whether you're turning into a cat."

"Oh, really?  What is it saying right now?"

"Well, I haven't checked the data."

The Sliver.

Sparkle got a bad, bad sliver a week ago.  Poor kid.  Last Saturday morning we had to take her into Urgent Care to have it removed; it was much too big and too deep to pull out here at home.  In my attemps to remove it, I suceeded only in shortening it by several millimeters on each end. 

I had a look at the wound today. It's healing up well, although it's healing pretty slowly.  It was pretty deep, although thankfully it went in mostly-laterally.

"Looks like you might have a pretty good scar there," I told Sparkle Kitty.

"What!  But I won't be able to show it easily!" she exclaimed.  "Why couldn't I have a scar on my arm?  All my life I've dreamed of having a real scar."