I woke Abby up this morning with the whispered words, “It’s raining, baby.”
Without opening her eyes, she replied, “Well, let’s go dance in it!”
I fall short so often on this parenting thing, but I’m going to take this as proof I’m doing something right.
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.
Today my sweet girl was reading a book in the backseat while I drove around town.
Without help from me, she read:
“I will help, Father. Sally wants to help but she is a baby.”
And then something happened.
She guffawed (seriously) and declared in utter frustration, “This is crazy! No, she isn’t! Sally is NOT a baby. Come on!”
Not only did my girl read today, but she questioned dialogue. She found fault with plot. She verbally admonished the characters and the author. Dick and Jane did not put one over on her.
I couldn’t be prouder.
Do other moms write stuff like this in the memory books?
No?
It’s just me?
Really?
While we were waiting at a stoplight today, Abby piped up from the backseat, “Mommy, why don’t you like that Chick-Fil-A with the fireman?”
Me: “What? What are you talking about?”
Abby started gesturing and pointing wildly: “Over there. The Chick-Fil-A with the fireman.”
I turned, I looked, I saw.
McDonalds.
With a Ronald McDonald statue in front of it.
My hatred for the golden arches has apparently affected my child more than I knew.
For a moment I felt bad for depriving her from the place that is supposed to make kids happy. But then the light turned green and I remembered the new spicy chicken sandwich at Chick-Fil-A and I immediately felt better.
(In case you’re curious- she also has no clue what Chuck E. Cheese is.)
Abby: If you hate something, do you push that button on the computer so it’ll disappear?
Me: I don’t hate things. Hating isn’t nice.
Abby: Weeeellllll, actually, you do hate pain.
Me: You’re the most amazing kid I know.
**** Side note- now that’s she’s four, can I still call her a toddler?
Yesterday, Abby walked up to us with a cup full of water and announced,
“Every day I like drinking the water.”
She sounded exactly like a foreign exchange student. We’re still looking for an explanation.
I often make the fatal error of thinking about instead of meditating on aspects of my faith.
As a person who gets bogged down trying to fathom the unfathomable, I love this passage by C.S. Lewis:
“The command, after all, was Take, eat; not Take, understand. Particularly, I hope I need not be tormented by the question ‘What is this?’- this wafer, this sip of wine. That has a dreadful effect on me. It invites me to take ‘this’ out of its holy context and regard it as an object among objects, indeed as part of nature. It is like taking a red coal out of the fire to examine it: it becomes a dead coal.”
Snowberry Life 