This morning, Penny wanted to wear a short-sleeved dress to school, and I told her she could, but she'd have to wear a long-sleeved shirt with it. And tights for her legs.
"But I'll get all sweaty!" she protested.
"It's cold outside, and you need to wear something on your arms and your legs," I said.
She got mad and stamped her foot at me. I sent her to her room. She slammed the door.
I went back to getting dressed. I was in the closet getting my shoes when Penny came back in. "My brain made me mad and stamp my foot," she said, all sweetness and light, "but you're right. I can wear a long-sleeve shirt under my dress."
So I got her favorite pink short-sleeved dress out of the closet and helped her pick out a long-sleeved pink shirt to wear under it. She threw her arms around me. "I love you, Mother!" (She calls me "Mother" when she's feeling a bit silly.)
"I love you too, Daughter," I responded, and that was that. Penny doesn't hold grudges the way I do.
When I was in the 8th grade, a couple of kids in my chemistry class tried to convince me that a friend of theirs wanted to be my boyfriend. Since he'd never said a single word to me before, I got a bonus to my Disbelieve Roll, and I told them that he would have to ask me himself. They left, whispering and giggling, and I congratulated myself on having dodged that bullet.
But they outsmarted me -- they went back to their friend and told him that I was interested in him. His "oh, yecch!" response was loud enough to turn every head in the class. You'd think my ire would settle on his troublemaking friends, but he was the one I loathed from that moment on. I still remember his name: Arty Shell.
Ten years later, I discovered that he worked at my bank. He had no idea who I was, even after I mentioned that we'd been in school together. I laughed it off and didn't expand any further, but... I'd like to say I've forgiven and forgotten, but I'm not sure I ever really will. It was one of the defining moments of my life. I can't tell you how much sleep I lost -- for years afterward -- trying to figure out what I could have done or said differently to have avoided that embarrassment.
My brain is all over the place this morning.
Alex is finally starting to accept that he's going to have to walk eventually -- he'll take four or five steps at a time now, before sitting down and crawling again.
Ms. Gwen told me this morning that he gets a lot of practice at daycare, too. Apparently Alex and Claudia (the girl in his class who's closest to him in age) have a sort of chasing and giggling game that they play a lot, where Claudia will walk over to Alex (she started walking months ago) and laugh at him, and he'll laugh back, and she'll walk away and he'll try to chase her.
"It's amazing how motivated a boy can be when he's chasing a girl, isn't it?" I laughed.
I had a really nice evening, last night. Usually, after dinner, I clean up the dishes and the kitchen and pack lunches for the next day while Matt keeps an eye on the kids, and by the time I'm done (often well before I'm done) it's time for Alex to go to bed. Last night, he offered to clean up so I could play with Alex a little.
And we had a great time. We petted the cat, and he crawled through the tunnel a few times, and we played peekaboo around the side of the tunnel, and we played with his toys. I discovered that if I made kissy noises, he'd lean into me to get the kiss, which was adorable beyond words. He laughed the way babies, do, with his whole mouth -- with his whole being, and it filled me with joy just to watch him. I couldn't stop giving him hugs and kisses, and he loved every second of it.
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