This evening just after the sun set, the baby, Jory, and I walked to the local shopping center to purchase some colored or blinking lights, after discovering all the lights for our tree either didn't work or only half the lights worked. As we started our journey, I noticed a young man, maybe a teen walking ahead of us. I let Jory run ahead a bit, get some of the energy out. When he ran too far, I would call him back to the baby, who had to be carried because as of late the only shoes she can find to put on belong to Rowan, and I.
A few minutes into the walk, he ran back to me.
"He's not nice, Mommy. He threw his trash on the ground. He's not nice. Is he?"
I could still see the young man walking ahead of us, but I had missed him throwing anything on the ground. "He could be nice, but what he did wasn't nice."
"What he did wasn't nice?"
"Yes."
"Cause we don't throw trash in the street."
"Exactly."
Jory seemed to accept this and ran off to continue to burn off energy.
When we crossed the street onto the next block, Jory once again ran ahead but it was slightly darker and I couldn't see him as well. Just as I was about to call him he came running back.
"Mommy, he's not nice again."
"No, he can be nice, but what he did wasn't nice."
"He told me to get out of his face."
I paused, grabbed Jory's hand, and turned his face towards me. "What?!"
"He told me to get out of his face."
"Why did he say that to you?"
"I told him to pick up his trash and he said, 'Get out of my face.'"
Oh Jory. "Baby, you can't go up to strangers and tell them what to do." How do I explain to him that while he had the best of intentions and was in the right, he couldn't force someone else to do what's right.
"But he wasn't nice again."
"No, what he said to you wasn't nice and what he did wasn't right, but we can't make him do what's right."
My well-intentioned baby nodded his head and I waited until the teen in the blue walked completely out of sight before continuing on our trek. Who tells a baby to get out of his face?
What have we become
Have we come undone
What have we become
"Mommy, whose on the phone with Oma?"
"I don't know."
"Aunt Brenda?"
"I don't know. I think she's talking to Ronnie."
"Ronnie."
"Yes." Okay, end of conversation or so I thought. After a minute's pause, Rowan started up again.
"I thought she was talking to Miss Sarah."
"No, Oma is not talking to Miss Sarah."
"What is Miss Sarah doing? Eating dinner?"
I glanced at my watch. "I think it's too late for her to be eating dinner."
"Is she taking a shower?"
"Maybe."
"Getting dressed for bed?"
"I'm not sure, Rowan."
She shook her head, making it even more difficult to braid her hair. "Miss Sarah can't be getting dressed for bed because she doesn't have a bed."
Braiding stopped. "Miss Sarah doesn't have a bed?"
She shook her head again.
"Yes, she does."
"Not in her house."
"Yes, in her house."
"I didn't see any."
Awwww. My friend, Marcus, had recently had a discussion with me about the stories children create for themselves in order to make sense of their world. In the mind of this three-year-old, you don't see any bedrooms, then bedrooms don't exist in that particular house.
"Miss Sarah's house had bedrooms. She just had the doors closed." In her auntie wisdom, Miss Sarah closed the bedroom doors, but left the bathroom door open with the lights on. Genius! No one had to be taken to the bathroom. Or could get lost looking for it or trying to remember where it was. It was kid friendly to find. We love Miss Sarah. "You just didn't see her bedrooms."
Amazing how Rowan's mind led her to believe Sarah's house had no bedrooms because she didn't see any, didn't go in any. The human mind so uniquely and wonderfully made.
This morning started off great. I took a break from 4AM Christmas wrapping and Christmas music listening and just chilaxed. Well, until the baby woke up crying. I tried to comfort her where she lay to ease her gently back into sleep, but she wasn't having it. I scooted closer to her, laid my head next to hers, and continued to rub her side. She didn't want that and continued to cry half-asleep/half-awake. Just as I was about to pick her up, she pushed my head and opened her arms wide. I gently laid my head on her chest and her little baby arms circled my head and the crying stopped. Aww, my baby just wanted to hold me as she drifted back off into dreamland. I so love this kid. Babies rock!!
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