- Aidan was dealing with some congestion, so he went into the medicine cabinet and grabbed the Nasonex. He brought it to me, asking if I would administer it so it would "clear up the snotties." Sure, I said, taking the cap off. Then he gave me further instruction: "I only need one squirt, Mommy, because it's only in one nozzle."
- In the car on the way home from school, Aidan was talking about Valentine's Day and describing some of the related crafts he was working on in school. "We need decorations for our house," he decided. I agreed, throwing out creative suggestions such as cutting out hearts from construction paper, drawing hearts and coloring them, and so on. He liked the idea of coloring and proceeded to list all of the colors he would like to use in his upcoming project: "Red, pink, purple, yellow, abednigo ..."Abednigo?!
I think he meant "indigo."
Time to move on to another Bible story -- clearly the three dudes in the fiery furnace made quite an impression.
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We've all had experiences with doctors who exhibited less-than-ideal bedside manners. But nothing beats this ...While playing with the toy doctor kit, Dr. Aidan decided Patient Grace wasn't well. He rummaged through the various instruments until he settled on a favorite: the needle. His expert skill clearly showed he knew what he was doing. His bedside manner, however, did not.
"Patient Grace," he said, "Here's your shot. It's going to hurt ... a lot!"
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Attitudes abound in our house as of late -- big attitudes housed in small creatures. Even though these displays can be exasperating and patient-building (on a good day), I have also found that there's a great deal of humor in it all ... a saving grace of sorts, I guess. Aidan's 'tude stems from pure five-year-old defiance, but Grace is 2 and she's a little mimic. What comes out of her mouth is often a combination of Aidan's snits and my responses, resulting in hilarity.
Yesterday was no exception. When I returned home after dropping Aidan off at school, I went upstairs to gather my daughter who, as usual, refused to go downstairs with me. Even though she's very big for a 2-year-old (starting to wear a size 4T comfortably ... yikes), she's still small enough for me to scoop her up in my jailer-arms and carry her downstairs to her awaiting fate of a clean diaper, a story, and a long nap. She's usually fine about it all, turning the whole thing into a giggle-fest. She's not a fighter ... but she is two, so you never know quite what to expect.
I plopped her down on the changing pad on my bed, and as I did so she let loose a torrent of protests. She threw her whole being into chewing me out, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, her sweet forehead deeply furrowed, and her tirade was something to behold:
"Mommy (pause for effect) ... we (pause again) ... never, ever ... all togedder ... today ... ever ... five minutes ... or else!"
There was silence for a moment. I burst out laughing and couldn't stop. Instantly her furrowed brow disappeared, her stern face melted into smiles. We both got a good laugh over that one.
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