Since the girls were teensy, I’ve kept a running list of the silly, sweet, or irritating things that my children say or do. Actually, I’ve slacked off a bit since I started the blog, but I do my best to keep up with the notes. I started with a small spiral notebook, and currently I type them directly into a draft email. That’s convenient because it provides a text for my delightful husband to add to his photo books, and it’s easy to access from anywhere. Plus I can periodically send my dispatches to the grandparents or an aunt who needs a laugh on a bad day.
Anyway, if you’ve still got very little ones, may I suggest a system like this? You’d be surprised how many unforgettably adorable things your child does now that you’ll manage to forget if you don’t get them documented. Here are a few selections from our archives:
M at 2 years old:
At the end of a car trip, M complains, “I’m tired of the car! I want to get out.” I reply, “We’re almost home–look, do you recognize this area?” M retorts, “I recognize that we’re not home yet!”
M notices that her butterfly puppet doesn’t have a tail. “Why not?” she asks. I answer, “He just doesn’t. You don’t have a tail, do you?” M answer, “No–I have a vagina! And Mommy has a vagina, and J has a vagina. . . but not Daddy! He has a penis! Poor Daddy!”
M at 3 years old:
M tells me about her trip to Lowe’s with W. “So, there’s a swing set in front of Lowe’s but you’re not allowed to play on it unless you take it home and then you can, and I don’t know what’s the deal with that.”
M has a pair of Hello Kitty loafers, but M only wants to wear sneakers. I grouse, “I don’t know why we bothered to buy these shoes. You never wear them, you must not like them.” “No,” M counters adamantly, “I like them. I like to look at them, not wear them.”
M at 4 years old:
We’re visiting relatives. M is exhausted after a long day and has already crawled into her sleeping bag when I enter and ask her to please brush her teeth. M answers, “I already did.” I pick up the bag with health and beauty aids and ask, “Really? That’s funny. How did you find the toothbrush?” M says, “It was in the bag.” “Wow!” I exclaim. “And here’s your toothbrush still at the bottom of the bag.” M explains, “Yes, I put it back.” I keep playing along, “Oh, so I guess that the brush will still be wet. . . wait, it’s dry.” M explains, “I dried it off.”
M is coloring and J wants to join in. M doesn’t want to share. After a discussion, I insist that M must give J a crayon. M chooses and hands over a white one.
M at almost 4, J at 1 1/2:
J won’t stop banging her spoon at dinner. After several “No bangs,” we change to “No bang or bye-bye spoon.” After her spoon is taken away, J proceeds to have her milk sippy, then her water sippy taken away as well. J then begins pounding her fist on the table. “You can’t take away her hands,” M points out to W.
J at 3 years old:
At church, someone’s playing the harp. J leans over and whispers, “It sounds like butterflies.”
J pronounces “chipmunk” “chick-munk”
J brushes her teeth by herself and is proud. She crows, “I can hear my teeth sparkling!!”
J at 4 years old:
Out of the blue: “Mommy, I love you so much. You are like a jewel.”
J is deciding between dresses. One by one, she holds each up against herself and studies her reflection. I’m getting impatient, so I suggest that I can unzip/unbutton all of the backs so that she can put any of them on herself while I head downstairs. “Thank you, Mommy, you are SMART-A-RIFFIC!” she gushes.
J, wearing a spring dress and two braids, is looking particularly adorable. “Oh, J! I just want to eat you up!” I say. “I think that you’d taste like a little marzipan doll!” “No, Mommy!” she corrects me, “I’d taste like blood.”
J at 5 years old:
J is scooping out the kitty litter. She enjoys this. Afterward, as she is washing her hands, she says, “Ah, this is like a dream come true again.” “What is?” I ask. “Remember, Isis used to always use her litter box [when she was an indoor kitty] and then she didn’t [three seasons of the year she’d rather take it outside], and now she’s doing it again?” “Yes,” I agree. J says, “Well it’s a real treat for us, to get to clean it again.”