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Tuesday, September 17, 2013

A Hairy Story

Yesterday was an age check.  For me. 

Annsley and I are on the couch going over her spelling words for the week.  I'm in the middle of reminding her that "c" says "s" before the letters e, i and y when she interrupts me and says, "Oh Mom!"

Before I know it, she is plucking a gray hair from my brunette tresses.  I, of course, am incredulous.  "Really?"

"It's right here," and she hands me the culprit.  "Oh, here's another one," and she passes its friend to me as well.

She has now positioned herself on the back of the couch and begins combing through my hair.  I'm moaning in protest.

"Oh Mom! They look shiny silver in the sun! You should be happy about that!"

I'm cringing as I watch her hand me evidence of my aging body. 

"Don't feel bad," she says.  "That's not terrible.  It's not like you're Grandpa."  Then she muses almost to herself, "I wonder what color of hair his real hair is..."

I just moan more.  "That's not bad at all Mom.  You have fewer white hairs than you have any other color!"

She's trying to cheer me up.  She keeps finding more though. "Have you found 20?" I ask.

"Oh, I've found over 100!" She's almost giddy. 

"I'm looking through your hair," she instructs me, "and every once in a while I see a flash of silver!"  Silence as she removes it from the roots, and then the thing that did me in, "Oh gosh! Here's a whole bunch!! There are like three of them right next to one another!"

She continues her quest.  I am mulling over the Loreal commercial of "Am I worth it?" Do they say that because it costs so much?  Before, I couldn't have cared.  Now that I might need it is a different story...

"Hey Mom! This one is half black and half white.  Want my to pull it???"

"Some of them look whiter than your shirt.  Not all I see have whiteness.  That's good."

She finds three more.  Now she says, "This is sad.  Are you going to cry?--Oooh! This one is sleek white! It stands out from ALL your hairs! Mom, just go to a salon."

I'm tiring quickly of her play by play.  Thankfully my phone rings.  I take advantage of it and get off the couch. 

After supper that evening, Annsley says, "Mom, would you come sit on the couch with me? I'd like to snuggle!"

I smile.  My baby girl may be 9, but she still wants her momma.  I sit down, and her eyes quickly divert to my hair. 

"You got me here to find more gray hairs?" I ask.  She nods.

I kid you not.  She spends two seconds looking through my hair and says, "Oh wow! Who would have thought I'd find one so fast!"

Monday, September 2, 2013

Man Day

"Today is Monday.  It's Man-Day.  Man can't get in trouble on Man-Day."  That's what my husband told me the other morning. 

Oh Honey, you crack me up! Seriously!

Andrei STILL doesn't fuss in his new big kid bed. He gets up only with his new alarm clock.  I paid $30 for a stop light toddler alarm that switches from red to green when it's time to get up.  He's NEVER gotten out of bed once without the light being on green.  He's amazing. Simply amazing.

It's a heavy reminder of his early months of orphanage training. Most of the time I had to watch him on the video monitor to know if he were up when he was still in his crib.  Before we transitioned him to his new bed, he started playing "Rock, Paper, Scissors" in his bed.  One morning I heard this beating on his mattress and him yelling, "Ock, Paypa, Oh NOOOOOOO!" (Obviously he lost with himself.) "Ock. Paypa. Sicks!  Ock. Paypa. Sicks! Ock. Paypa. Oh Nooooo!" (Lost again.)  He was having a grand time all by himself.  This morning, he was singing one of our family's favorite songs, Jason Gray's "Remind Me Who I Am". "Mind me whoooo I am, whoooo I am..." and he just be-bops on the mattress.  Oh yes, the boy's got moves at his age!  Doug's so excited to think that he might clap on the down beats.  I don't understand that, but apparently it's a big deal in the music world.  Doug's always making fun of me because I obviously clap on the upbeats (along with 90% of everyone else I'm standing with but I guess we're ALL wrong!!!)

He has become increasingly bossy--Really, really bossy. (Andrei, not Doug.  I realize that I didn't identify my pronoun very well.  Sorry about the linguistic faux paus.)   I didn't think any kid could get any bossier than Annsley was, but I was terribly wrong.  And any phlegmatic personality that gets near him just hangs his head and does whatever Andrei tells him to do.  (Phlegmatics are easy going, loves to please people, etc.)  I'm in awe at how these people just let him order them around.  He's three and OWNS them....

We're working on social skills big time.  "Mom, get my my sippy cup now!"  "Mom, I need taggy."  Mom, find my socks."  "Mom, you go to bed."  And most of the time he says these things with an ever so slight scowl.   

He used to be a very polite toddler who always said please and thank you without any prompting.  He's ditched those words from his vocabulary and has commenced to just ordering everyone around. I guess because the weak people do whatever he tells them to.  His momma isn't one of the weak ones.  His daddy may be, but not his momma. 

He wears his boots with his shorts.  Every day.  Everywhere, including church. Without socks.  His feet reek. But he LOVES these boots. And tow trucks. And his rubber band rifle which he has been known to sleep with.
First night in his big kid bed.  We just moved the top bunk bed from Kennedi's room and had built in safety rails!

The boots.

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