Every Breath You Take...

Each night when Vivie goes to bed, she walks all around her bedroom and lays down her "people" toys as if they too are going to sleep. The first time I saw her do this, I thought, "Oh that sweet girl is tucking all of her dolls and figurines in for the night." So I sat ever so patiently on her bed watching her make the rounds and after she crawled under her covers, I leaned over her and told her how precious I thought that was for her to tuck in all of her "people." Her eyes widened as she very soberly whispered in my ear, "I wasn't tucking them in bed. They don't sleep. I lay them down so they won't stare at me while I sleep."  Before I could even respond, she jumped up out of her bed, ran over to the shelf where one little friend remained standing, and laid it down on its back. Looking at me, she said, "Whew! I almost forgot one!"

Why, pray tell, are kids so creepy? I know it all comes back to an active imagination...at least for most. Of course, I reassured Vivie that her toys weren't watching her. I didn't bother asking her why she would even want to play with anything that she thought was watching her while she sleeps. I also didn't school her on the proper bedtime closet light and closet door situation. I don't want to scare the child, but she insists on leaving on her closet light and keeping the closet door open all night. This, I'm afraid, is a rookie mistake. Whatever it is that lives in the closet doesn't need a light shining on it making it all the easier for it to escape, and everyone knows it can't open a closed door, but it will however, take full advantage of an open door. I also haven't told her of the importance of keeping her feet covered at all times during the night lest The Under The Bed Trolls should come out and scrape the bottoms of her feet with their spoons. Clearly, I have some residual issues from my early exposure to scary movies.

The other day, Vivie brought home her self-portrait that she made in her pre-k class. She was so proud of it that she insisted I allow her to hang it on her bedroom wall. I asked, "Are you sure you don't want to hang it on the refrigerator door so everybody will see it?" She insisted that her masterpiece hang on her bedroom wall. She picked a prominent spot on the wall just left of the head of her bed. She smiled as she taped her picture onto the wall and then she stepped back and admired her work. I have to tell you that hanging artwork on my children's bedroom walls stretches me as a mom. Their rooms typically are somewhat messy and I have just preferred to keep the clutter at a minimum. Before you start bashing me as an unfit mother who doesn't know how to encourage self-expression and creativity in her children, I do keep some of their art and I display some from time to time on the refrigerator. Also, in my defense, I recognized how important this was to Vivie and I let her tape that picture to the wall and made my peace with it.

At bedtime that night, Vivie stuck to her normal routine of laying down all of her "people." She crawled into bed and as I leaned over her to pray, she told me to take down her picture and hang it on the wall inside of her closet. I took it down but I told her that between the bookshelf and all of her clothes, there wasn't a great spot on the wall in her closet so I hung it on the inside part of her closet door. She then started shouting, "Not on the door! Not on the door! Stick it on the wall! On the wall, Mommy!" Funny thing is, I knew she was worried that picture would either close the closet door or open it up wider at some point during the night. Again, I stopped myself from asking her why she would want something that she thinks is up and about in her room while she is sleeping.

Originally, I thought Vivie's little creation was just so precious but the girl has ruined it for me. She has turned it into Gladys and as far as I am concerned, that drawing needs to be tightly sealed in Vivie's keepsake box where it won't cause any trouble. 

Slice Me Up a Fat Piece Of Humble Pie

A few months back, I submitted a couple of articles to HomeLife Magazine and earlier this week, I received an e-mail from one of the editors informing me that he wants to publish both of them. The first one will appear in the February issue and the second one will be in the September issue. As you can imagine, I am downright giddy with excitement.

When I shared my big news with Jacob, he said, "That's just how Mark Twain got started. Hey...you could be the next Mark Twain." Y'all, I nearly wrecked the car. My sweet kid likened me to Mark Twain. Mark Twain. For the briefest of moments, I latched onto that comparison. Me? A great American novelist and humorist extraordinaire. Wow. I felt my head swell so quickly that it made me dizzy. I looked at Jacob and asked, "Mark Twain? You really think so? That's high praise!" Jacob in all the frankness he inherited from his father said, "I just mean he wrote short stories and stuff before he began writing books. You could write some short stories and stuff and then maybe a book." So he let a little helium out of my overinflated balloon of a head. In this particular moment, I chose to have selective hearing. Any way you slice it, my son compared me to Mark Twain...he just didn't necessarily mean to compare our talents.

Speaking of frankness, while Vivie and I were sitting in my car this morning waiting for Jacob's cross country practice to end, she reached over and grabbed my arm right on that spot all of us women just love to be grabbed. You know the spot....the spot where if you were to morph into an animal based on your physical traits, you would turn into a bat. Just as she squeezed my arm, her sweet smiling expression changed to one of slight horror and concern. She looked at me and said, "Mommy, you are squishy right there." Why yes, yes, I am a little squishy right there but it's because my guns are of the Nerf variety. There is no shame in Nerf.

Because I just can't leave well enough alone and I wanted to reassure her that Mommy's arms are not always squishy, I gave her a ticket to my gun show, flexed my arm and said, "Look at Mommy's arm now. See that line and my muscles?" Vivie promptly reached for that same spot and gave it a squeeze. She smiled and said, "I see your muscles and your arm is still squishy." So trying to show her that we are all a little squishy, I asked to see her muscles. She proudly flexed both arms and noted that her muscles are smaller than mine but only because she is smaller than I am. I reached out and pinched her bat wing only to come back empty handed. She smiled in a way that made me think she knew I was a little disappointed that her arms were lacking in the squish. I said, "Vivie, you don't have any squish on your arms." Girl fell out laughing and said, "Noooo! That's silly, Mommy!" I don't know what I was thinking. My 5-year old daughter is exceptionally beautiful but make no bones about it, the girl is built like a freak of nature. From the time she was old enough to walk, she was climbing. She never really had that toddler softness about her. She looks like she is ready for a starring role in a DC comic. Why on God's green earth would I even think to compare my squish with hers?! I blame it on the deliriousness that stems from early morning cross country practices.

No one will put you in your place quite like your children. God love them.