Do you have any idea how happy these make me??!!! For the past month or so, the back of Mary Aplin’s hair has been looking…well, frizzy. I don’t know why I didn’t recognize the texture, since its MY OWN, but I just kept thinking it was some weird baby hair thing. Then, the other day we went to my sister’s Squeal Day and spent some quality time out in the rain and humidity. Suddenly, my Aunt Alice said, “Just look at those little curls!” I was ecstatic. It looks like this little cherub may be growing some slightly strawberry curls. I could just eat them!
While Mary Aplin has been growing curls, crawling all over the place, and putting any object she can get her chubby fingers on into her mouth, what, you might wonder has Pace been doing?…Asking the question, “WHY?” I’m serious, the child asks me “Why?” about everything, and I am just about to lose my mind. The whole world is a question just waiting to be asked, and while I don’t want to squash her enthusiasm for knowledge, I can’t go on like this forever. I was talking to my neighbors about it yesterday, and Joel told me that Caroline (their 5 year old) started asking constant questions about Pace’s age and still hasn’t stopped. I won’t be able to handle that y’all! I’m not playing. By the end of the day, I feel so frazzled from all the questions that I am snapping at her. I have to take lots of deep breaths and have pulled Jeremiah to the side many nights and begged him to just try and absorb some of her energy. I mean, there are so many questions that just don’t have answers like, “Why is blue your favorite color?” or “Why do I have ten toes?” or “Why do birds fly?” or (this second) “Why did I drink all this?” Just try fielding those all day and get back to me on your mental status. Anyway, all the questions are not aggravating, some are actually quite hilarious. I think I’ll share a hilarious conversation with you, but be warned that if you can’t take humor about bodily functions, stop reading now.
This conversation went down in a restaurant in Midland City called the Red Owl. It was one of those good ‘ol Southern Sunday lunch buffets, in a restaurant with white table cloths where nobody, on this particular Sunday, was talking at all. It was bizarre to be in a restaurant with several tables full and silence prevailing. Anyway, it was in this atmosphere, in which a 2-year old still feels no need to talk below their normal extremely loud pitch, that the following occurred:
“Mommy, I need to go to the potty,” Pace began, as everyone turned to see us leave for our second trip of this lunch to the bathroom (a bathroom that had only one thin plywood wall dividing it from everyone’s ears).
We get to the bathroom and Pace gets all settled in before she turns to me red faced and says, “This is going to be a BIG one!”
“Oh, good Pace,” I said as my face turned red wondering if everyone outside was snickering.
After a couple of solid, umm, releases, Pace said, “Oh, LORD that felt good!” I couldn’t help but start laughing. I really don’t know where in the world she would have heard that exclamation, especially related to potty time.
“Mommy, is it bad to say Lord?”
“Well, not if you’re really talking to him,” I answered. What else could I say?
Pace started looking around and then said, “Where is he Mom?”
“Well, he’s everywhere Pace,” I said, as I questioned if this was the appropriate time and place to discuss the omniscience of God.
“Even here?”
“I suppose that, yes, he’s even here,” I concluded. Not the time, just not the time to get into all that.
Pace looked up, to where we normally look when talking about where God is, and she saw the exhaust fan sucking away the lovely bathroom odors. “Is he in there?” she asked, and before I could even get an answer out through my laughter she said, “Well, if he is, he better get outta there, or he’s gonna get stuck!” And there we were, wrapping up a theological discussion over poo.
It was several minutes later before Pace finished her business on the potty. And I was a little embarrassed as we re-entered the restaurant–self-conscious about the time it had taken and wondering just how much everyone else had heard. Pace, however, left no room for question in anyone’s mind, because she ran straight into my Dad’s arms yelling, “I pooped Papa, and it was a BIG one!”
As a stay-at-home mom, there are days I realize, “Wow, I have not really played with my children in a while.” Its easy to get caught up in handing them a marker and some paper, so that I can fold another load of laundry. Pointing her to her toy chest so that I can sweep the kitchen. Or, heaven forbid, turning on Sesame Street so that I can blog :). This will work for a time, but soon you start to notice that they have run out of steam and need some new fodder for their little imaginations. So, Monday morning I decided to give myself over to make-believe with my 2 year old.
Next, we decorated. I gave her some watercolors and told her to paint a picture of twinkling lights and dancing people (I just didn’t have it in me to dig the Christmas lights out of the basement, give me a break) so that we could hang it on the wall. We covered part of the study in white sheets, in an attempt to make it feel like she was dancing on clouds. We invited her “friends” from the toy chest, being sure that the Evil Stepmother, Anastasia, and Drizella were all in attendance. We picked out the perfect ball music (my Pride and Prejudice soundtrack), practiced dancing, and attempted to learn what a curtsy was. We decorated with flowers and I tried to teach her the meaning of the word ambiance.
Then came the really fun part–the make-over! She was insistent that she needed a PURPLE dress, and since there are no purple dress-up gowns at our house and a call to the neighbors produced no more hope of a purple gown, I dug into my own closet and found what, with a few strategically placed pins and one gold ribbon turned out to be the perfect ball gown. Then came the make-up and how to wear your hair when wearing a crown.
This gallant steed was awaiting our fair Prince so that he could take his date to the ball in style. He was happy to oblige us in this area, but I’m afraid that, like all men, the allure of nature was greater than the allure of stiff dancing. And no matter how Cinderella pleaded, we just could not get him off that horse. So in the end, Cinderella didn’t get to dance with Prince Charming at her ball (You should know that she called Noah, Charming the whole time he was here, as though that was logically the Prince’s name), but she did get to dance with another, tinier prince. Noah’s brother Gavin may only be 7 months old, but he could dance well with a little help from his Mama.
I miss her smell. White flowers, tiny green leaves, and sunshine. I miss her touch. Warm, soft, and made of a mother’s love. I miss her smile. Its radiance that filled a room and left others grasping for her attention. I miss her love. Fierce, true, and always on my side. I went to a wedding tonight. Driving home with Jeremiah, I needed my somebody to dissect all the details with…and she wasn’t there. So I started missing her. I started longing for this never-ending play to let me off the stage. I’m tired of this role…motherless-daughter. I’m ready to relinquish my part and step back into a reality that no longer exists.