Abby aka Sally

After buying some drinks at the store today, Abby looked at me and with all seriousness asked, “Is this the lemonade without hairs in it?”

{I’m sure everyone else assumes their drinks come without hair, but my kid takes after me in the hating of drinks with pulp in them and since “pulp” isn’t in every two year old’s vocabulary, she’s been referring to it as “hairs” for the last three years. And we understand her, so why bother correcting it, right?}

I had no issue with the question (it happens every time we buy Orange Juice too) until I had a random flash of life imitating art and pictured my child growing into Meg Ryan’s character from When Harry Met Sally and a conversation in the future going like this:

“I’d like a lemonade please. But only if it doesn’t have hairs in it. If you don’t have lemonade without hairs, I’ll take a Dr. Pepper but only if it’s a real Dr. Pepper, not if it’s a Mr. Pibb. If you only have Mr. Pibb then I’ll take a Cherry Coke. I’d like two cherries in it with the stems attached. If you don’t have cherries, then just scratch the order and bring me a water with lemon. I obviously need the lemons on the side though so the water doesn’t end up having hairs in it. Thank you.”

Bacon & Unicorns

In case there were rumors floating around that we have educational or enlightened conversations around our dinner table, I offer you two snapshots of tonight’s discussion.

Abby: Bacon is healthy for you.

Me: Not really.

Abby: It is if it isn’t dipped in syrup.

Me: Did you just dip your bacon in syrup?

Abby: Yes.

Me: So it isn’t healthy?

Abby: Only the bite that had the syrup on it isn’t healthy. The rest is good for me.

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Abby {after opening a fortune cookie}: What does this paper say?

Me: “Your deepest dream will come true.”

Abby: That’s a lie. You know why?

Me: Why?

Abby: Because my deepest dream is to have a unicorn pet. But unicorns don’t exist so it can’t come true.

Pretty

The other night as I was getting dressed to go out, the following conversation occurred:

Abby: “You look pretty.”

Me: “Thank you.”

Abby: “Why do you want to look pretty?”

Me: “I don’t know. Why do you want to look pretty?”

Abby: “Because I want other people to think I’m pretty.”

That silenced me.

I hugged her and said a few words that I hope will resonate at some level but I still haven’t stopped thinking about it.

Is it irony or simply the circle of life that I’m finishing a book on insecurity while my four and a half year old is beginning to worry about what other people think of her appearance?

Either way, there’s a new layer to my prayers for my daughter.

In Only Ten Minutes

Abby made the following declarations:

Performing an impromptu dance: “I am going to teach ballet-ers how to dance.”

Noticing Matt looking at a design catalog: “Sometime you and me should teach Daddy how to read.”

After seeing me give Matt a quick kiss: “YUCK! I would never like to kiss a boy. Or a girl.”

And as we drove past a dead skunk: “Oooooh, I LOVE the smell of skunk.”

Tomorrow morning I have our first parent/teacher conference. Matt has advised I go in prepared for the worst so that I’ll hopefully be pleasantly surprised. I can only hope the teacher has a great sense of humor.

Shark Tail

Abby: “What’s a shark tail?”

Me: “What do you mean? It’s the fin at the back of the shark.”

Abby: “No, not that! A shark tail.”

Me: “That is a shark tail.”

Abby: “No, a SHARK Tail. A shark TAIL.”

Me: “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Abby: “It’s a type of dinosaur. Come on, please tell me what a SHARK TAIL is.”

Me: “Do you mean a SHARP TOOTH? From Land Before Time? The T-Rex?”

Abby: “Yes, that’s it. What took you so long?”

Hoping my husband comes home soon as this is how the majority of my conversations have gone today.

I See Glory.

That is what Abby loudly declared:

“I see glory.”

Before I could ask a question, it continued:

“When I put these glasses on, I see glory. When I take them off, I don’t. {Glasses on} – glory. {Glasses off} – no glory. Glory. No glory. Glory. No glory.”

I had to ask.

“What exactly does glory look like?”

She pulled the glasses off and looked at me like I was an idiot.

“Glory! You know? Glory? Everything looks fuzzy and weird and I can’t walk right.”

I looked at Matt. He looked at me. Then we telepathically had the following conversation:

“She means blurry? Glory = blurry? We should probably correct that. What a major vocabulary mix-up. But wouldn’t it be fun to let it slide for now? What if she says it in public? Wouldn’t that be great? Can you imagine the conversations that’ll ripple from hearing Abby exclaim she’s seeing “glory”? Brilliant. You know we might be labeled bad parents for this? Yep. Worth the risk? Absolutely.”

Judge us if you must.

Our child sees glory.

In case you need to know…

Abby has made the following announcement:

“When I grow up, my mommy name will be Selena. Do you know how I spell Selena? H-I-N-Y.”

A little more conversation…

Snippets from today:

Me: “Abby, why are you looking in the mirror?”

Abby: “Because… does this look like a little hamburger?”

{Followed by insane grin with tongue stuck between upper and lower teeth.}

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{Abby making sniffling noises.}

Me: “Baby, are you okay? Are you crying?”

Abby: “Oh no, I’m just making music out of my nose.”

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Abby: “Could you please buy me a sleeping hat with blueberries and a pink moon on it?”

{Me: Blank stare.}

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Abby: “I’d like to be a cowgirl for Halloween.”

Me: “Instead of the skunk?”

Abby: “No, after the skunk. First the dog, then the skunk, next bumblebee and then cowgirl.”

Me: “So you mean next year?”

Abby: “No, all of them this year.”

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Abby: “Why did you ask God to give you a little girl with grey skin? Because when I grow up, I’m asking for a little girl with black skin.”

Me: “I love you.”

Maybe Prayer is Her Gift

{I fear that a growing percentage of my stories begin with “We were in the car…” as this one does.}

So, we were in the car. Abby was in the backseat being pretty quiet. No barking. I was soaking up the silence. And then I heard, “Mutter, mutter, mutter… in Jesus’ name.”

Me: “Abby? Were you just praying?”

Abby: “Yep.”

Me: “What about?”

Abby: “This boy.”

Me: “What boy?”

Abby: “The one in this book I’m reading.”

Me: “You’re praying for a boy in a book?”

Abby: “Yes. I’m praying for God to heal him because he doesn’t look like he’s having a very good time.”

So I’d like to apologize to author Grace MacCarone and illustrator Betsy Lewin on behalf of my child. She is faithfully awaiting the day when she opens Itchy, Itchy Chicken Pox and finds the main character no longer struggling to stop scratching. While I realize this will negatively affect both the plot and the illustrations, I agree with her empathy too much to ask her to stop praying.

A Different Kind of Prayer

As we were driving this morning, Abby began barking from the backseat. This is way more common than it should be. In fact, I’m beginning to wonder if she could earn a record for longest running “phase that should only last a few weeks or months.”

My response, as it is more often than not, was to say, “Please no barking in the car.” (Seriously, I could write a book on the things I never thought I’d say to my child.)

Then the following conversation ensued:

Abby: “Does barking hurt your ears?”

Me: “Yes.”

Abby: “Does little dog barking hurt your ears?”

Me: “Yes.”

Abby: “Do you think you just don’t have the right type of ears?”

Me: “I hadn’t thought that, but maybe you’re right.”

Abby: “I can pray you get the right type of ears.”

Me: “Why don’t you just pray that the barking will stop?”

Abby: “Nope. I’ll pray right now for you to get the right kind of ears. Dear Jesus….”

I’m pretty sure this could be a great example of how prayer can differ from one person to the next, but right now I’m too tired from all the barking to make sense of it.

Any advice on how to convince your child that being an animal is not better than being a human is greatly welcomed and appreciated!