Adelaide, How Do I Love Thee?

Let me count the ways.

I love the serious conversations we have. 

A few weeks ago, Adelaide came up behind me while I was doing dishes and said, "Mommy, I need to talk to you."  She was very solemn, and I had to work to school the expression on my face.  She doesn't like it when she's being serious and I am smiling, laughing, or acting at all lighthearted.

We went and sat down together on the couch. 

"Okay, what did you want to talk to me about?"

She took a deep breath and declared, "I don't think I'm getting enough protein in my diet." 

Oh-kaaay.

I love that when you were two years old, your favorite song was "Sister Suffragettes."

I can still hear you marching around the house, singing,
 "Cast off the shackles of yesterday,
Shoulder to shoulder into the fray!"

I love that your other favorite song was "Strangers in the Night."

I love how concerned you are when you think your friends and family don't "know God."

I love how you disturbed you were by that scene in  "Beauty and the Beast."

Not any of the scenes with the Beast or the angry mob, but the one where Gaston gets Belle's book all muddy.  She wipes the mud off with her apron and Adelaide then exclaims, "Mommy, Belle wiped that book off with her apron, but look- her apron is still clean!  And the only people who's clothes ever change are Belle's and her Daddy's- everyone else always wears the same clothes.  What is the matter with these people?"

I'm not sure if "these people" are the good folks at Disney, or some other villain.

I love that you sigh in disgust every time we find weeds in the flower beds.

She recently asked for a flower bed of her own to care for, and has already started plotting her choices- hardy english primroses, lewisia, and sweet pea. 

I love how you burst into tears over the weirdest stuff.

Okay, so I don't actually love that, but I have a theme going here, people.  Let's see, yesterday's outburst was due to the fact that Atticus had given her an outlet cover (you know, one of those child-proofing thingies), she had touched it, and was now afraid that electricity had gotten into her body and was going to kill her.  Several days before that, all she managed to get out between sobs was, "I think there's something wrong with me!" 

I have to wonder: if she's like this now, what's going to happen when puberty sets in and all those crazy hormones take over? 

Pray for us.

Birthday Girl

At almost five years old, Adelaide has developed very decided opinions on what she does and does not like.

She likes dresses.

She does not like jeans.

She likes reading, coloring, playing pretend, bossing Atticus around, and playing with Caedmon.

She does not like it when Atticus disobeys her or Caedmon doesn't feel like playing.

She likes anything sweet and anything pink.  She's trying to convince me we only need pink flowers in our yard. 

She tolerates any other color.

She likes school, church, her aunts and her grandparents. 

She does not like green onions or steak that is too chewy.

When she was this age, I wouldn't have guessed half these things about her.

I wonder what another five years will bring?



The Big Oh-Five

This Friday is Adelaide's Birthday. 

Her fifth birthday.

Meaning she'll be five. 

Oh my word.

So this week, there's going to be a whole slew of posts about Adelaide. 

Brace yourself.

To kick off a Week of Adelaide, we have here our firstborn at 1 year old- learning to balance, learning to perform for an audience.

The Napster

Spring has arrived in central Iowa.

Flowers are blooming in our yard, those pagan rabbits are eating them, and temperatures are finally warm.

What is Derek to do but lie in the hammock, enjoying the shade?

And what is Caedmon to do but tuck himself into the crook of his Daddy's arm and nap with him?

There's just something about a sleeping baby.  They're all warm and soft and cuddly.  I'd pick him up and hold him close every time he slept if I wasn't so terrified of waking him up.

I content myself with sneaking up and taking pictures of him.  Because if anything around here is sacred, it's naptime- cuddly baby or not.





For Parents

If you have never seen the stand-up comedy act, "Bill Cosby as Himself," I implore you to find it and watch it- especially if you have children living in your home, have ever been a parent, a grandparent, or have parents yourself. 

Here's one of my favorite little snippets, but bear in mind it's even funnier to see Mr. Cosby performing it himself.

"My mother and father come over to the house quite often.  They're grandparents now.  Funny- they're funny people.  I've never seen such a turnaround in all my life..
    " My mother kisses every child: *muah, muah, muah, muah, muah* 'Grandmommy just love you to death!'  And my children think that my mother is the most wonderful person on the face of this earth, and I keep telling my children, 'That is not the same woman I grew up with- you're looking at an old person who's now trying to get into heaven.'"

Can I just tell you how hard Derek and I laugh when we hear that?  Don't get me wrong- we were each fortunate and blessed to have been raised by two truly terrific mothers.  But, help me Rhonda, that is funny.




I hope everyone has a splendiferous Mother's Day weekend.

Dialogue

Just about a month ago, I took Caedmon to see a nurse practitioner for his six-month check-up.  One of the topics of discussion between us was that of communication. 

"Does Caedmon effectively communicate his needs to you?" she began.  "Are you able to distinguish between his cry for a diaper change and his cry for hunger?  Sometimes the difference is subtle."

 "I don't know,"  I said.  "Repeatedly banging his face against my chest seems pretty obvious to me."

Since that conversation, I've been thinking quite a bit about communication between Caedmon and me.  I like to think I understand what he wants or needs pretty quickly.  I'm still learning, though.

A couple weeks ago, I was sitting on the couch, holding Caedmon in my lap.  He was chewing on and shaking a rattle, and I was talking to Adelaide, who was sitting at the table.  My conversation with Adelaide was punctuated by the sound of the rattle hitting the floor, over and over, as Caedmon kept accidentally dropping it.  When Adelaide left the room, I happened to look at Caedmon, just in time to see him throw the rattle onto the floor, then look up at me expectantly.  He was doing it on purpose. 

Because he has me well-trained, I bent over and picked up the rattle, handed it to him.  He shook it once then threw it back down, and again, looked at me.  Rather than picking up the toy, I stared back at him, wondering what he would do.  Within a few seconds he started to whimper, and gave me a look that clearly said,  "That rattle's not going to pick itself up, milk slave." 

See?  Caedmon is an excellent communicator, and I am a skilled translator. 

Atticus has a vocabulary that is expanding each day.  He still relies on non-verbal communication, but I sometimes have to stretch myself to find the deeper meaning in his actions.

For example,  this is the scene I stumbled upon last week:

Just as I was about to chastise him for making a huge mess, I thought to myself, Wait a minute.  Maybe he's just trying to help me out here.  Maybe he sees how much my kitchen floor needs a thorough scrubbing, and he decided it was up to him to provide the catalyst that would force me to clean.

Or, you know, maybe he just wanted to see what it would be like to dump an entire box of baking soda onto the floor.

'Member That Time?

'Member that time I asked my Dad what the boogeyman looked like? 

'Member how I was only really asking because I was little and wanted reassurance that the boogeyman didn't really exist?

'Member how instead of getting that reassurance, my Dad drew me a realistic portrait of the boogeyman?  Unfortunately for me, he has a reasonable amount of artistic talent, and sketched a picture of a thin-faced man wearing an ivy cap, with hooded brows over mean eyes, hollow cheeks, thin lips gathered in a scowl, and a long chin. 

I then knew exactly what was lurking outside my window just beyond my range of vision, who was hiding in the recesses of my closet, the person that was cloaked in darkness under my bed.

I have no idea whatever happened to that drawing-  not that I need it.  That image is forever burned into my long-term memory.


Check out the Van Voorst's for 'Member That Time Monday.