Dean and Ike are at a scouting event this evening (huge sigh) and Mabel’s at a friend’s, so it’s just me and the three youngest at home. By turns they are frustrating me, making me sigh at how adorable they are, and making me laugh.
I’ll tell you the least-cute stuff first. You probably don’t want to hear it, but that’s what you get when I don’t have any other grownups here to
vent to share with.
At 20 months Hazel’s hitting that stage where she wants to do everything herself, but she can’t because she’s just 20 months, so she gets really really mad and frustrated. (This stage lasts until age 21.) She wants to dress herself but she can’t, so she settles for pulling off any clothes she can (fortunately she hasn’t figured out how to unzip her footie pajamas yet) and she wants to take off her own diaper, get a diaper wipe, and wipe herself. Tonight before I could stop her she got her hand down into her diaper, and once I’d gotten her diaper taken care of (fighting her wriggling the whole time), let her help wipe herself, and had scrubbed her hands, she wouldn’t relinquish the diaper wipe, and shrieked and screamed at me when I finally just had to grab it and throw it away. Then she did the same antic with her water cup after I’d brushed her teeth, wanting to stand there and sip out of it indefinitely until I finally just had to take it away and carry her to her bed, while she kicked and screamed.
Thank goodness she really, really loves her pacifier. She was finally willing to forget about the water cup and go to sleep once I’d found her binky for her. For a while a few weeks ago we were out of binkies because she had lost every single one, and I thought maybe it would be a good time to wean her of them. But then she wouldn’t nap and had a hard time falling asleep, so I gladly accepted some hand-me-down binkies from a friend whose daughter had outgrown them, and life got much better again.
So, the temper tantrums are the less-fun side of Hazel’s current stage. (If only I really could just let her brush her own teeth and change her own diapers.) Cuter was when, earlier while she was sitting in her high chair, I asked her if she was sleepy, and she nodded and said, “Seepy.” A minute later she was straining and her face was getting a little red, and when I looked her way and noticed this, she whispered to me, in the very softest of whispers, “Poopy.” (Yes, I do think that was cute. What? You wait until you’re spending your Friday nights with three kids 6-and-under, and see what’s your idea of cute.)
Earlier, during dinner, Rose was telling Henry all about what to expect in Kindergarten next year. Henry said, “When I grow up I’m going to be a third-grader!” Then he added, “What’s a third-grader?” We were also talking about marriage (I don’t remember how we got on that topic) and Henry said that when he and Hazel got big, they would get married. I told him that brothers and sisters don’t marry each other. Henry said, “But you and Daddy did.” So I was explaining that Dean and I didn’t know each other until we were grown-ups, and Rose added, “Daddy and Mommy didn’t get married until they had children.” (Close enough.)
And before that, Rose was telling me she wants to be an artist. She said she didn’t used to want to, because she thought (and here she affected a very convincing snobbish tone) that artists were always like, “‘Oh, this is a little perfect.'” But since then she has decided, “That’s just like in movies. Actually artists are nice! They’re just normal people who like to paint things.”