Last night Elisabeth woke up in the night and came to our bedroom. Clay asked her what she was doing and she said in an urgent voice, “Daddy, I didn’t have a dream!” He, being more than half asleep and not catching the humor in this statement, simply pulled her up into bed with him. I was awake anyway feeding Silas, and I thought it was strange that he let her stay because usually we send her back to bed. I finished feeding Silas, and turned the light back out before I realized that with both bedroom doors now open, I could hear Elisabeth’s music and knew it was going to keep me awake, so I told Clay to send her back to pull my ipod out of the speaker dock. He told her to go, and she immediately started protesting and whining. He was interrupting her to tell her not to argue, when she finally managed to get her whole protest out in a voice that was on the verge of tears: “But Daddy, I’m not watching where I’m going!!”
That one took a minute at 4:30 am to sink in, but we finally realized that it was too dark and she couldn’t see. The lamp came back on, the music was turned off, and all was well again, until she wiggled for 30 minutes, causing Clay to finally realize how early it was and send her back to her own bed.
Later this morning, the kids and I were all piled on my bed–me taking a break from the laundry to feed Silas, and them watching one of the newer silly kid shows on Nick Jr. that think they are going to make math genuises out of three-year-olds simply by making the show “interactive.” The characters on the show were building something, and asking the “audience” to tell them which pieces they needed to use. My four kiddos were just watching in silence, not answering any of the questions. When the building was complete, the characters were cheering and saying, “We did it! Thank you for your help! You finished the building!!” Catherine muttered, almost under her breath and not really for anyone else to hear, “You did that all by yourself. I did not do anything to help you.”
My sweet Catherine. She’s too smart to fall for a silly show like that.
Now for our little Samuel, who is not quite as mellow as he used to be. He is quite the boss at our house. He is used to hearing me tell him what to do, or correct him, and then I follow it up with a “Yes, ma’am?” prompt for him to answer me with his own “Yes, ma’am.” So now when he gets frustrated with Clay or me, he fusses at us to stop doing whatever it is, and then looks at us with a very stern look and says, “Yes, ma’am?”
Oh, the things they say.