I wish I had pictures to go with this Saturday's edition of Splashes, but I don't. Sigh. I had the perfect opportunity this morning at the Farmer's Market, Meggie's first taste of summer sno-cones dripping from her chin, sticky hands clutching her treat, and I forgot my camera. Hopefully, I'll get one before the days out because these girls look EXTRA cute today. :)
At night, I’ve started asking Meggie if she would like to pray for anyone or anything. Most of the time she answers “Ky-kee,” her name for her friend, Kyla, down the street. So, we pray for Kyla, that God would be near her, thanking Kyla for sharing her toys and playing with Meggie.
One night after Kyle left this most recent time, I asked Meggie if she had anything special she’d like to ask God for.
She answered: “happy. Daddy. happy. Daddy.” It took me a moment to process her words, but she seemed insistent that those were the ones she meant.
I clarified: “Would you like to pray that Daddy’s happy at work right now?” (when Kyle’s deployed we tell her that Daddy’s working and flying his big, white airplane.)
She nodded. “Happy. Daddy. Happy. Daddy.”
Oh, my precious angel. That night and the nights since, we’ve prayed that Daddy’s happy wherever he is and that he comes home to us soon.
In my last post, I wrote about how Kyle’s appearance rescued me from a particularly hard night and bedtime. Maybe you wondered what made it so difficult?
I can’t believe I’m about to record these words. In public.
Meggie loves anything with a top that she can practice screwing on and off. Seriously, her fine motor skills rival mine. Her little fingers are adept at opening contact lens cases, milk bottles, olive oil, ... and medicine. Take this skill and couple it with her above-average height and speed. Imagine.
For those of you who know and love her, can you guess where this is going?
Right now, we’re working really hard on teaching her to give back the “no-nos.” She typically reaches wa-a-a-a-y up on the counter, grabs something we’ve tried to hide up there, and while we’re watching, runs away with it, trying to get it open. Most of the time she does well with returning the items...unless I’m nursing.
(Side note: I had an epiphany this week. I thought, Shannon, why don’t you just keep the counter clean! I mean, seriously, put the stuff back where it goes after it’s used. :) haha - check back in a couple of months and my routine just might be a little more under control. I hope.)
So, I was nursing Allie V this Monday night on the couch. I had a video on for Meg which she was kind of watching while also twirling around the floor. I brought the milicon out to give to Allie - she struggles with a lot of gas. This whole time Meggie was watching me with the milicon. I dosed Allie up and then laid the bottle beside me just long enough to change her position.
Before I’d turned back around, Meggie was there, bottle in hand and galloping across the room. I saw her turning the lid and called, “Meggie! NO! Do not open that bottle. That is medicine (okay, so it won’t hurt her to drink it, but the principle’s the same. It LOOKS like medicine.). Listen to Mama’s words and no. NO. touch.”
She gave me her mischevious smile, twirled open the bottle, and started drinking.
Swiftly, I propped up Allie V and made my way to Meggie, who surrendered the bottle when she saw me coming. In the moment, I wasn’t quite sure what to do - but knew I had to discipline her for disobeying my instructions. I told her to “sit on your bottom” until I could decide on a course of action. I turned away to place the milicon bottle as far back on the tv stand as I could reach and then faced Meggie again.
“Uh-oh.” She said. “Uh-oh POOP.” Her knees were open wide and she was gesturing to the floor. When I asked her to sit on her bottom - the major poop that I didn’t know was in her diaper - squished out of both sides all over the floor.
I mentally threw my hands up and wailed. But to Meggie I calmly said, “Ok, sweetie, we’re gonna have to clean you up before our consequence for not listening to Mama’s words.” I helped her up, deciding to leave the poop on the floor until I could clean Meggie - we went to her room.
Oh, and insert baby crying here.
A few minutes later we reemerged to find the poop missing from where we left it. Douglass wagged his tail and looked guiltily at me from beside the couch.
I can only deduce that (gulp.) Douglass. Ate. Her. Poop. I am still not over my disgust. And I’m a dog person.
I threw Douglass outside - willing him not to breathe in my face - and gave my attention back to the girls. Both of whom were crying. We still had bathtime, jammie time, song-time to go.
And you know the rest of the story.
We were coming home from an errand. As per the usual, Allie V was crying in her carseat.
(I’m realizing that most of my stories involve Allie crying. I guess that’s when the funny, sweet, memorable things seems to happen. But, I don’t want to give the wrong impression. Alice Virginia has the absolute sweetest disposition, the sunniest smile, the dewiest eyes. More often than not, I can count on her to coo and gurgle rather than cry. She really only cries in the car or for an hour at night before bed or with gas. I promise.)
We’ve realized that she’s comforted by KNOWING her family is near, so instead of reaching for her paci, I was singing her name to her from the front seat:
“Al-lice Vir-gin-ia, oh, Al-lice Vir-gin-ia, it’s alright. You’re okay. We’re all here.”
Meggie was just as helpful, but not so patient. She surprised me by announcing to the car that she knew her sister’s name. Not Baby. Not sissy. But ALICE.
She started soft in my same sing-song voice: “Awice. Awice. Awice. Awice.”
And then. Crescendoed in a whole-hearted, nobody can screech at this decibal like Meggie, kinda fashion: “AAAAA - WWWWIIIICCCEEEE.”
I think we were all struck silent. :)