Saturday, February 28, 2009

tell her about it

For the past couple of weeks, various colds have infiltrated my house. Thus, I have been quite popular as both Magic Boy and Happy Girl need me. All. The. Time. This has obviously cut into my blogging time (not to mention my almost-nonexistent-anyway alone time). Hopefully they will recover soon and I will be able to return fully to my blogging duties.

In the meantime, I give you these quick anecdotes courtesy of Magic Boy (who turned three this week... while he was sick, which really should not surprise me as he has been sick every year on his birthday).

I tell people that most of my day is spent narrating my day. This is because Magic Boy constantly asks me to ask or tell the baby what's going on with us. As is, "Momma, I want cereal. Tell her about it." Then I have to respond with something like, "Happy Girl, Magic Boy wants cereal." Likewise, we have conversations that go "Momma, do you know where my choo-choo-train is?"
"No, honey."
"Ask her about it."
"Happy Girl, do you know where Magic Boy's train is?"
"What did she say?"
"She said no."

The thing about these conversations is that we have them regardless of where the baby happens to be. So if we're in the kitchen and she's upstairs napping, I still have to ask her where the train is. Last week my parents took Magic Boy to their house for a few hours and my mother said he made her narrate the day to the baby- even though Happy Girl was at home with me. Also, if he tells me to ask the baby something and I don't he can't get past it. He'll wait, repeating, "Momma, ask her about it!" louder and louder until I finally ask the four-month old whatever it is he wants me to ask her. (Trust me, it's easier just to ask her right away.) I'm not really sure why he wants me to ask and tell her things, but it seems he really believes she's communicating somehow. This week, for example, I was sitting in the kitchen finishing my lunch. Happy Girl was relaxing in her swing a few feet away, and Magic Boy asked me if he could watch a movie. I whipped out the tried-and-true "We'll see" (I really don't like to let him watch t.v. but he's been sick so I've made exceptions). He went over to the swing, leaned in and whispered "Baby, can I watch a movie?" A few seconds later, he came running up to me, crying "She said no!!" Ummm... apparently the four-month old caves less easily to the boy's demands than I do. Who knew she could be such a strict disciplinarian?

Then, at dinner this evening, my husband and I were trying to convince Magic Boy that he should eat something (he hasn't been having any stomach problems). He didn't want to (clearly the pizza we were feeding him was really liver-and-onions in disguise) and got all worked up crying and carrying on about it. I put him on my lap and tried to calm him down, but apparently I was a bit late for that, and he vomited all over the floor and a good bit of my clothes. We went to the bathroom to clean up and when he was feeling a little better he said, "Tell Happy Girl I spit up like her."
"Happy Girl, Magic Baby spit up like you do."
"Tell her if she cries a lot she'll spit up."
"Happy Girl, if you cry a lot, you'll make yourself spit up."
"Tell her when I spit up it sprayed like a fireman putting out a fire."

That's right "it sprayed like a fireman putting out a fire." Not only does my life now contain similes comparing vomit to firefighting, but I get to relay these to an immobile blob who, apparently, has better control over the three- year old than I ever will.

Remind me again why I spent all that time in college?