Monday, July 28, 2008

Inside the mind of a three year old!

I made the mistake of allowing Amelia to ride her big wheel to the community pool today. I didn’t factor in the towels and shoes that always spill out of arms after a day at the pool. Needless to say, I was trying to make the walk home as quickly as possibly because my arms ached with the weight of our swimming gear. Amelia had other plans. She wanted me to look at the butterflies, to acknowledge the way she knows how to move her ears (she really doesn’t it’s more her eyebrows then anything else) and can I hold her shoes because she thinks there might be a rock in one, and look at that tree, and that bird. Holy moly who knew a kid on wheels could move so slowly. There are all sorts of hills on the walk home. Due to a previous accident that sent her flying off her bike and doing a little somersault on the cement she is terrified of them. Each time we reached a hill she would somehow manage to pick up her bike like a tiny little weight lifter and very, very slowly inch down the hill with it in her arms. The whole thing was pretty impressive. I started walking faster in the hopes that she would speed up and maybe get over her fear and tackle one of the hills. Instead, I hear her yell from behind me

“Mommy! Mommy! Stop beating me up!”

I pause for a second taking in what she has just said. I am shocked. What does she mean beating her up? Slowly, dumbly, I realize what she means is that I am beating her. Perhaps in her slow snail way she thinks we are racing. Clearly, she is not going to tolerate me beating her. Again, very loudly as if she has produced a magical microphone she yells piercingly, in my neighborhood with all sorts of windows open,

“Mommy, don’t beat me up!”

I turn around quickly before she can utter it again.

“Amelia, you mean wait for me, or stop going so fast, it’s not a race so you don’t need to say beating, definitely not beating up, beating up means someone is hurting you. I am by no means beating you up.” I say that last part loudly just in case someone is calling 911 due to the persistent shrieks of my disgruntled child. “You say slow down mommy you are going too fast.”

She looks at me for a second then yells. “Stop beating me!” I shrug my shoulders at least it sounds a little better.

A few hours later while trying to get dinner ready I hear Amelia’s desperate pleas form the boy’s room. I find her on the top bunk.

“I NEED pillows!” She tells me, “lots of pillows!”

I hand her two, thinking she wants to lie down for a bit before dinner. Clearly it’s not good enough because she wrinkles up her face with dissatisfaction the way she does when her expectations have not been met.

“Two is good enough.” I tell her.

A few minutes later I hear her yelling again.

“I need more!”

I Ignore her. When I check on her a little while later I notice a pile of pillows strewn on the floor directly under the top bunk, the boys most have given in to her pleas.

“Mommy watch me jump!” She says as I enter the room.

“Amelia, that’s way too high for such a little person! You’ll crack your head! We will have to go to the hospital and it won’t be fun” I tell her.

She looks at me for a long time like I have just said the most ludicrous thing in the world. In a very matter of fact tone as if speaking to a complete imbecile she says. “Mommy, I am real girl. I am not pretend! She holds out her arms to as if to offer proof of their fleshy realness “only pretend girls crack their heads!

“You’re real?” I ask.

Yes, mommy!” she giggles. “Real girls can’t crack!” she assures me.

And those are some of Amelia’s thoughts for the day.

Amelia with her slow poke bike!

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