Friday, December 30, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Loud people
Dear Scarlett,
Today for lunch you tried a sweet basil and roasted garlic chicken sausage. You ate it with toothpicks, and I think I'll call it a semi-successful experience, because even though you didn't actually ingest any of the sausage, you did put each piece in your mouth at least once before spitting it onto the floor, where it was subsequently eaten by Smokey. Smokey, let me remind you, has kidney and thyroid disease and is not supposed to eat a lot of protein. So there you have it. My child-rearing skills and my cat-maintaining skills are in conflict and my reaction is just to be happy that someone ate the sausage. At one point when I told you that I wished you would put the sausage into your tummy, you aimed the toothpicks at your stomach.
As is typical these days, you talked throughout the entire meal. "Hello!" you yelled at the food. "Hugs," you told it. "Dada, home. Shishy, poops," you explained. Yesterday during nap, I heard you in your crib repeating the word "focus" for what seemed like a very long time. You did not nap at all.
We went to the East Bay this weekend to spend time with some friends and their young daughter. You had a great time at their house, dancing and playing with unfamiliar toys. But by the time we got to dinner, you had had enough. You yelled and fidgeted, cried and tossed food. Dad and I rushed through our meal. We enjoyed the company, but not your antics. It was pretty unusual behavior for you, so on our way home, I asked you if something was hurting you, thinking maybe your teeth were turning you into a dinner monster. Here's how that conversation went:
Me: Honey, is something hurting you? Do you have an ouchie?
You: Knees. [Your knees are a little skinned from a few recent tumbles.]
Me: Hmmmm. Yes, you have ouchies on your knees. Do you have ouchies anywhere else? Are your ears ouchie?
You: No.
Me: Are your teeth ouchie?
You: No.
Me: Is anything ouchie?
You: People.
Me: People are ouchie?
You: Loud.
Dad: You're just like your father, Scout.
I would like to point out that you were by far the loudest person in the restaurant, but I get it. Sometimes being around people is just too much. It can really be preferable to lie in one's crib, performing a monologue, which is what you're doing right now. Enjoy.
I love you,
Mom
Today for lunch you tried a sweet basil and roasted garlic chicken sausage. You ate it with toothpicks, and I think I'll call it a semi-successful experience, because even though you didn't actually ingest any of the sausage, you did put each piece in your mouth at least once before spitting it onto the floor, where it was subsequently eaten by Smokey. Smokey, let me remind you, has kidney and thyroid disease and is not supposed to eat a lot of protein. So there you have it. My child-rearing skills and my cat-maintaining skills are in conflict and my reaction is just to be happy that someone ate the sausage. At one point when I told you that I wished you would put the sausage into your tummy, you aimed the toothpicks at your stomach.
As is typical these days, you talked throughout the entire meal. "Hello!" you yelled at the food. "Hugs," you told it. "Dada, home. Shishy, poops," you explained. Yesterday during nap, I heard you in your crib repeating the word "focus" for what seemed like a very long time. You did not nap at all.
We went to the East Bay this weekend to spend time with some friends and their young daughter. You had a great time at their house, dancing and playing with unfamiliar toys. But by the time we got to dinner, you had had enough. You yelled and fidgeted, cried and tossed food. Dad and I rushed through our meal. We enjoyed the company, but not your antics. It was pretty unusual behavior for you, so on our way home, I asked you if something was hurting you, thinking maybe your teeth were turning you into a dinner monster. Here's how that conversation went:
Me: Honey, is something hurting you? Do you have an ouchie?
You: Knees. [Your knees are a little skinned from a few recent tumbles.]
Me: Hmmmm. Yes, you have ouchies on your knees. Do you have ouchies anywhere else? Are your ears ouchie?
You: No.
Me: Are your teeth ouchie?
You: No.
Me: Is anything ouchie?
You: People.
Me: People are ouchie?
You: Loud.
Dad: You're just like your father, Scout.
I would like to point out that you were by far the loudest person in the restaurant, but I get it. Sometimes being around people is just too much. It can really be preferable to lie in one's crib, performing a monologue, which is what you're doing right now. Enjoy.
I love you,
Mom
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