Comma Dot Comma

So. I have this totally immature thing I do. When I am frustrated by some task or object, I reach a certain point where I yell “AARRRGH!” and then do some angry dismissive gesture, such as throwing my hands in the air, stomping a foot, or even, in my most loosey-goosey phases, flipping the offending object the bird. My one-second tantrum defuses the stress and makes me laugh, and I can move on or try again. I realize it is really unattractive behavior, but it is in the privacy of my own home. It works for me! Or rather, it worked. Past tense.

Now I have a perceptive two-year-old observer in the privacy of my own home. She has witnessed my one-second tantrums once or twice a week for her whole life, and now she enacts them three or four times a day, in response her own frustrations. Of course, yelling AARRGH! and making an angry gesture is completely appropriate behavior for a two-year-old. But boy, was there a sinking feeling in my stomach when I finally recognized that Abi AAARRGH as my own personal immature adult AAARRRGH. Same volume, same duration, same emphasis, same everything. She thinks this is what people are supposed do when they are frustrated! Whoops. Do as I say and not as I do, dear child.

Abigail constantly asks for stories. I indulge her as much as I can, but she makes it hard by dictating not only major characters, but plot points. If I try to borrow a plot from a book or TV show, she stops me and says, “No. a NEW story.” Here are her requests, verbatim, from ONE afternoon. Sometimes I forget that she just turned two.

Mommy, tell me a…

Swiper story–
In a cold building with turkey in it
Stuck in a pasta costume
with his mommy eating his pee candy costume
fishing for boots
trapped in his tower
trapped in a tower with his mommy and daddy with sleeping bags and pillows
in the toothpaste
in the sink having a big fiesta
saying “it it it it it”
stuck in his own helicopter
trapped in an airplane, a flying airplane with wings and not pedals
blueberry Swiper in a blueberry costume rolling around like a little ball
gray black and pink swiper with paint on his toes and his tail
being nice with Dora

cat story–
cats on an airplane with Captain Swiper
getting blueberry juice in a cat cup

story when you were a little baby.

The rain showers and storms of the past few days have been a stark reminder that yes, I do live in the dry bones desert. Why? Because rain is far too rare for Abigail to take it for granted. It’s an anomaly to be studied and discussed and analyzed by her methodical little brain. She stood at the window for most of a rain shower a few evenings ago, watching the water droplets hit the pool and the patio. She wanted to know if we would stay dry inside the house while it was so wet outside. “Yes, because our house has a nice strong roof,” I told her. She thought about this for awhile. “And it has doors that are shut. And windows and walls,” she added. Her thoughts then went to her father, away at work in his eight-story “castle.” Was he dry, too? Yes, he was safe and warm and dry. “Because he’s working in a building,” Abigail confirmed. “He has a jacket.”

The next morning she spent quite some time peering at the blue and grey and white patchwork of sky. “It’s starting to rain, Mommy,” she announced. I told her it wasn’t. “The wind starts to blow hard, then the sky gets dark with clouds, and maybe we hear some thunder. THEN it starts to rain,” I explained. “Rain clouds make thunder,” Abigail deduced. She thought a little more. “Tonight it will get dark and then soon it will be rain.” Well, not quite. I wonder how many rainstorms it will take before all the pieces fit together in Abigail’s mind.

I think Dr. G. and I have at least seven mix tapes of rain-related songs, put together in our days in rainy Oregon. How distant all that water feels today. Abigail keeps begging me to take her to the Hundred Acre Wood. She wants tall trees and creeks and honey. I’m hoping I can at least get her to the West Fork of the Oak Creek Canyon when the apples are ripe.

“No Rain” by Blind Melon

Without further ado, a list of the various creatures and objects Abigail has announced herself to be this past week.

mama cat
wet cat
baby cat
daddy cat
cat in a costume
big girl cat
naughty cow
doctor cat
mailbox
cat on a donkey
crab
crocodile
daddy crocodile
yucky old pig
Kisstinner Robin (Christopher Robin)
Silly Old Kisstinner Robin
laughing Kisstinner Robin
talking Kisstinner Robin
leaning back Swiper
a picture
a sandwich
a volcano
a big girl
Abigail again

I llluuuuurrrrvvveee crafts. When I was growing up we had an Arts and Crafts box– actually a red plastic basket– perpetually stocked with glue, popsicle sticks, cotton balls, paints, glitter, and so on. I could while away an afternoon just dumping it out and seeing what I could make. Now that I’m a parent, I’ve been waiting patiently for the Era of Arts and Crafts to arrive. Abigail and I officially ushered it in this Saturday. She’s a champion crafter!

My mom gave us a book on her last visit: Look What You Can Make With Dozens of Household Items. I was idly paging through it on Saturday when Abi climbed on my lap and said, “I want that!” pointing to a picture of a dinosaur made out of a box. I explained that these were things we had to construct ourselves. She sat there browsing with me until we came to a page with egg carton projects. “I want to make creatures!” she announced. So we did.

I assembled the materials: egg carton, glue, yarn, paint, brushes, crayons, scissors, paper. She carefully attended each instruction I gave her, completing each step with deep concentration. She picked what kind of creatures she wanted to make and picked the colors we should paint them. She wielded the paint brush (mostly) and squeezed the glue and stuck on the yarn hair/legs/nest and googly eyes. Twenty minutes in, she laid down on the floor and said she needed a break from paints. A minute later, she was back up and ready to finish our projects. We made a bird in a nest, a spider, and a silly monster. They came out kind of creepy but we were so proud.