Your Presence is Requested, but Unnecessary

My daughter loves to talk. She's six, so this is entirely normal.

The other day, I went outside by myself to get the mail.  Had I been a wounded zebra on the Serengeti, I might have stood a better chance against the cheetah like reflexes of my child. She bounded after me, already starting a conversation before she was in earshot. 

"And I remember the time Veronica and I were on a field trip and we picked berries and slid down the slide but I didn't get to go on the swings because we ran out of time.  That made me sad so..." she made it to my hand and took hold.

This field trip was roughly six weeks ago. 

"Can I walk with you?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Can I give you kissee?" she asked.
I offered my cheek and was nearly strangled by her joy.

"Can I have a play date with Veronica? She's my best friend.  We had a party for all the summer birthdays and she brought in donuts and even though I don't like those kind of donuts very much, I had one because she's my best friend and I didn't want her to have sad feelings so I ate it and it was actually pretty good and maybe I like it better than any other donuts I've tasted but I haven't tasted every donut in the world.  Have you Mom?"

"No. I haven't."
"What's your favorite donut?  I'll get the mail."  She sprints to the mailbox.
"I like lots of kinds, but I'm starting to really like Sour Cream Cake."
"Sour Cream! YUCK! I don't think I'd like that Mommy.  You like a lot of weird foods.  I don't like weird foods. Because they're weird. I like pasta but not macaroni and cheese. I like cheese pizza but not grilled cheese. And I like ice cream.  That's yummy. Ice cream is the best. Can we get ice cream today? Maybe shakes?  Can I have a chocolate shake with whip cream but no cherry. I don't like them." 
"No."
"That's okay. I'm not hungry right now. Because I just had the best lunch.  Do you know what I had for lunch? I had a yogurt and a banana and juice and two pieces of bread with butter and a cookie.  I also had a toaster strudel even though it wasn't time for breakfast."
"I'd be ful--"
"I think we should go biking. Can I go to the park and go biking? I need you to take off the training wheels because the back wheel doesn't touch the ground. I want to help take them off. I'm good with tools and I think it would be fun."

As a mom, sometimes it is a season to listen, and sometimes to talk, but in my six year old's life, I'm not even sure the listening is required.  I'm more of a tree or a diary, not so much an audience as an accessory or decorative flourish, enjoyed but not required. 

She bounds off towards her bike, still talking. "What do you think MOMMY?" she shouts back.
I don't know what to think. I missed that last part. "I'm not sure." I bluff.
"I was telling you that Veronica says she likes me because I'm a good listener. Can she come over? Can I have a play date?"

"Yes."  I say, mentally trying to remember where the school directory is so I can make the call.  
"Yippee! You're the Best BEST BESTEST MOMMY!" and she comes over for another one of those strangling hugs with super smooches. 

I go inside to make the call thinking that while I could listen to her forever, it is good to call in a reliever.

What Parent Books Won't Teach You

Not talking politics today so don't bring it up.--Sherry

Today, my son had a wardrobe problem.  Specifically, he was very angry with his pants.  

"They're too long on the inside." he whined as I pointed out that they were 1) clean 2) his size and 3) relatively new. 

When he suspected I wasn't really moved by his complaint, he added, "They hurt me on my leg and pointed to a discreet place on his shins and they're itchy and they don't work."    Now I am working on not allowing the practical gritch to marshall through issues like this using emotional brute force.  Making said child get dressed by barking, "Just put the things on!" was my first, second and frankly third and fourth thought when considering options.  

Reminding myself that this person does not care that I think their problem is completely irrational and unreasonable, and that not seeing that they think this is insurmountable makes ME the irrational and unreasonable one in the senario, I told him to go to the bathroom and wait.   A quick survey of the laundry indicated there wasn't a Miss Congeniality version of uniform attire waiting and ready to take the dethroned pants' place.   I turned the pants inside out to see if there was in fact a reasonable reason for the pants being so  unsuitable.  Alas, there was no discernable reason that an adult could fathom why these clothes were so unacceptable today as versus last week when they were just pants.

Racking my brain for alternatives, I could 1) bluff and say this is a different pair of pants that I just got out of the laundry basket and hope he bought it; 2) insist on putting them on and pay the emotional consequence cost of having a miserable son cry about his mean mommy forcing him to get dressed or 3) somehow make the salespitch of my life to get the wearer and the said navy slacks reunited and in accord with one another.

Taking a deep breath because I knew option 1 wouldn't work since he had already done a search for an alternative pair, and because option 2 was really really really tempting; I knocked on the door.  "I want to talk to you." I said.  His eyes were a little wet from the struggle of that morning already.   "Can we try them on so I can see what's wrong?" I pleaded.   The seconds went by and I waited.  Like hooking a fish, if you pull up too quickly, you lose.   He nodded and I left the room.

Five seconds later, there was a knock and my heart sank.  "Can you come in Mom?" he asked.  This was it, he had changed his mind and I was going to have to do a grafting of those darn things onto my kid's legs.  I opened the door and there he stood, dressed. 

"Oh!" I beamed.  "You look nice!" He flowered into a smile. 
"Yeah, I thought these pants were too big."
"But it turns out you grew a bit bigger." I added hastily. 
"Yes, it must be because I'm six now." he explained. 
"That must be it." I nodded.

"It's funny." he added. "I've tried these pants on 1000 times and they've never fit."

Deciding not to correct him on his memory, I kissed his cheek and said, "Guess you need to try One Thousand and One times." 

Going down the stairs, I mused over what all had happened in the span of ten minutes.  1) I'd kept my Lenten resolution 2) He'd gotten dressed and 3) we'd experienced a touch of wisdom that seemed likely to stick if not for him, for me.   Feeling very satisfied, I started making lunches.  But the battle of virtue over orriginal sin within  the heart goes on undeterred.  When one opportunity for suffering and sin has instead become a moment for grace, a new opportunity must be presented.

"Mommmmmm?  I can't find any socks."