Yesterday F wore another outfit that used to be her big sister’s. It was a white long sleeve shirt, navy and white polka dot pants and a yellow sweater with ruffles at the cuffs. She likes the sweater and has worn it before, but this time she had a certain request.
“Mommy, roll up my sleeves. I don’t want kirts on them.”
It took me a minute (and a few repeats on her side) to figure it out. Sometimes you have to add the s- back on to get it. She wanted the ruffles out of the way – the (s)kirts. It made me smile the rest of the day to picture her asking me to get rid of the “kirts” on her sleeves.
I don’t think we’re much of a cursing family, or even a pseudo-cursing family. Growing up in the south you hear lots of those “shoots” and “daggone it’s” and the like, but I don’t think I use those with any frequency. But still, it takes very little for a kid to pick up sayings like that. F must have heard someone exclaim “darn it!” at some point.
Yesterday she was trying to carry a doll and all the doll’s paraphernalia in a toy baby carrier, and it kept tipping and spilling the contents all over the floor. After a couple of unsuccessful tries she carried the empty doll seat into the kitchen where I was pouring juice for breakfast. She had a disgruntled look on her face, and she sort of stomped in and pouted. I asked her what was wrong.
“I was carrying my baby and I dropped it,” she pouted. “And then I dropped it again. And then I darned it.”
Last night I told F that it was going to be ninety degrees today and she could wear shorts. She LOVES shorts. She smiled really big, and then she said “Good. Now all my friends can see my boo-boos.” To be two again, and so proud of the bumps and bruises of childhood.