As we were driving home from getting 3B’s picture taken with Santa…yeah, a Santa picture–we did it because Shutterfly had an offer that made the picture free and because nothing says Hanukkah like a Santa picture and because we need a new photo of 3B to send out with all the Christmakwanzukkah cards we didn’t send last year, so people don’t think 3B didn’t grow at all over the last year.
Where was I? Right–we were driving home.
And we were talking with 3B about what we had just done:
“Did you have fun driving the train?” [Santa was ensconced in a Polar Express exhibit.]
“Did Santa give you stickers?”
“Do you want to play with them?”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”
“What does Santa say?”
“Does he say, ‘Ho ho ho’?”
“Santa says, ‘Ho ho ho and a bottle of rum!'”
Now, that’s my kind of Santa.
Mama made cupcakes one night this week. The next morning, 3B spied them sitting up on the counter as I was trying to convince him to eat his Life and blueberries with milk. He was fine with the blueberries, in fact, he picked them all out and gobbled them up in a few minutes, but he was having none of the cereal.
So, having learned everything I need to know about parenting from Bill Cosby, I said, “Sure, let me get you a cupcake.”
3B ran over, had me pick him up and said, “I can’t wait to have one of those cupcakes.”
For a sentence like that, sure, whatever you want, kid–just eat it before Mama comes back. And wipe those crumbs off your face.
The other day, one of the first freezing days of winter here, Mama decided to take the boys on the dog park, playground, coffee shop circuit. Even though she figured that there wouldn’t be any kids at the playground, Mama wanted to get 3B out and running around for at least a short while before frostbite sets in, plus he gets busy at the coffee shop, which has a play area overflowing with toys.
So Mama was happily surprised when they arrived at the playground and saw that a girl and her mother were there. The girl was just about 3B’s age, and they started playing as Mama and the other mother fell into conversation. They talked about, of course, the kids’ ages and sizes–the girl was a head taller than 3B, which is remarkable, since he tracks in the 90th percentile for height for boys. That’s one tall little girl.
As the kids moved from one activity to another, the moms’ conversation meandered along. While the other mom explained that she was finishing up her residency, 3B and the girl started drumming on one of the stools. Mama asked what the other Mom’s residency was in and the other mother replied “child psychology” just as 3B slapped his hands flat on the stool and declared, “The drumming stopped,” reciting from one of his favorite books.
Suddenly, as Mama realized what 3B was going to say next, time slowed down and all she could hear was the echo of the other mom’s last words in her mind: child psychology.
Then, 3B recited the next line of the story, slowly and clearly, “The executioner raised his great axe.”
Really? Child psychology, you say?
Full disclaimer: Mama didn’t care one whit about the cupcake for breakfast. In fact, she sent two of them with him to Mrs. K’s that day, so I’m in the clear.