I give Adam a couple of dried mango slices. He says, "This isn't going to work out for me. I need THIS many [holds up hand with five fingers out] of dried-up mangoes."
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Dentist, to Adam: How old are you, buddy?
Adam: I think three.
(He said this in too articulate a tone for someone who isn't sure if he's three. The dentist and hygienist were cracking up.)
Me, to Adam, on the drive home: Adam, you know how old you are, don't you?
Adam: I think I'm three, but I'm not sure. (Again with the articulate tone. I don't know what he's playing at, funny kid.)
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I'm reading a book to Adam in the living room when I smell something. (Wow, I never realized how critical a sense of smell is to a parent until I started blogging.) It's an oddly familiar smell that I can't quite put my finger (nose?) on.* Finally, I work it out: apple cider vinegar. I keep the vinegar in the corner cabinet in the kitchen. Ellen is in the kitchen. Sure enough: apple cider vinegar, in puddles. A couple of batteries are floating in what's left in the bottle, one AA and one AAA. Most likely from remote controls. She loves to take batteries out of remote controls. And drop them in bottles of vinegar, apparently. She smiles at me and says "juice!" which is endearing in itself, but doubly endearing because of the story it reminds me of.
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When Jane was Ellen's age, she loved to play in the corner cabinet as well (I know, I know, four kids and I've never put on cabinet locks, yada yada yada) and especially to bring me a bottle of vinegar and plead with me, "Juice. Juice. Juice." And I would reply, "No. This isn't juice, honey. Not juice. You wouldn't like it. Not juice." But of course she was never convinced, and always so sad that I would put it away without giving her any of the juice. Then one day when she brought it to me -- "Juice! Juice! Juice!" -- the obvious response finally occurred to me (I can be really slow). I said, "OK, you can have some, but I don't think you'll like it." I poured a tiny bit in a cup and gave it to her. She took a sip and said immediately, "Not juice." From then on her word for a bottle of vinegar was "not juice."
*Here's something you may never have known if I hadn't been so good as to enlighten you: the faint, leftover scent of apple cider vinegar is surprisingly reminiscent of the acrid smell of breastfed newborn baby poop. I kept doing double-takes all day. (I know -- some of you wish you still didn't know that.)
Sunday, March 22, 2009
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4 comments:
I heard a story from one of Dean's sisters recently that they said was about Dean as a toddler -- but I'd never heard it, so either he didn't get told it often enough to have had it stick, or it was his brother Mike. Anyway, apparently one of them mistook a gallon of oil for juice and dumped out the WHOLE THING on the kitchen floor. (I keep meaning to ask for clarification about that story, and keep forgetting.)
Hey there, I hear ya on the apple cider vinegar baby poop. I never would have put the two together but so true. Funny stories. Anyway, I just got your comment too about teaching a dance class. I would love to except that my hubby and I are packing to leave for the summer sales now. I wish I would have checked my comments earlier. I love teaching. Maybe when I come back, if you still want someone I could. Well, take care. Let me know though if you would want someone to teach it maybe next year. So sorry I didn't get to you earlier but we are leaving in three days.
P.S. Thanks for the fix.
Remember the parenting class we went to? Adam's comment about the number of dried mangoes not working for him reminded me of the line Sam used to use on me. "So, Mom, which would work better for you...." This afternoon Matt was telling our friends all about Adam and his ball obsession as a baby!
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