Friday, November 14, 2008

She Can Smell Chocolate On My Breath. It's Just One Of My Favorite Things.

Thing 2 found some money on my desk the other day, a bunch of coins. She said, "Can I have these monies, monmy?" I said yes. She did that little jump she does when she's gleeful, a kind of full body bounce, and said, "I love monies!" Then she gave some coins to Thing 1, who said, "How many monies do you have? I have five monies!"

On the ride home from preschool, Thing 2 tries to convince me to let him watch certain shows or movies by prefacing his request this way: "You know what we hadn't watched in a long time?" He means "haven't" but it comes out "hadn't." Anything we "hadn't done in a long time" is the thing he most wants to do this minute.

He also interrupts frequently with this query: "Kin I tall you someping, mommy?" And when he wants a television show recorded on our Tivo, he asks, "Kin you recorder it, Mommy?" Perhaps because he also sometimes plays the recorder, or at least blows into it, and after all, "recorder" isn't much different from "record."

She asks for two pony tails rather than calling them pigtails.

He gets upset if she doesn't wear the pajamas or socks or underwear he wants her to wear. He may be just shy of four years old, but he might as well be a professional wardrobe consultant.

She could spend all day trying to draw hearts and flowers, or getting me to draw them for her so she can color them in.

He could eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or mac n' cheese for every meal of the day.
He even eats peanut butter and jelly on his Vans mini waffles.

He falls asleep faster if I lie on the floor beneath his bed and hold his hand.

She holds two small stuffed yellow ducks, one in each hand, while sleeping, and sometimes touches each duck's soft beak to her cheeks, as if the ducks are kissing her.

She calls his favorite character "Light McQueen," always leaving out the "ning" part. And when she counts to twenty, she always skips from fifteen to eighteen.

He carries his cars around with him in a soft Cars-the-movie themed lunchbox. He insists on bringing the same car to Share Day every week.

She sucks the juice from the hard middle of the mango.

She can smell chocolate on my breath every time.

With no prodding, at totally random moments, he'll lean his head into my body and say, "I love you, mommy."

I write these down so I don't forget them. At this moment of motherhood, they're my favorite things the kids do or say. Like raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, they're worth more than all my monies.

1 comment:

William V. said...

What gorgeous souvenirs! You'll be glad some day that you wrote these down, to fortify the sweet memories. I'm glad already -- that you shared them.