Thursday, June 16, 2011

We're In Trouble.

My adorable toddler does not SOUND like a toddler. She talks Con.Stant.LY. and as a result, pretty much sounds like she's about 6 or 7.

We're so used to it, because she's been like this since she about 10 months old. The words have just gotten clearer, larger and in less need of interpretation.

She thinks quickly, talks even MORE quickly, and is generally more fearless than I can comfortably watch.

...Because, after all--  she *IS* still not even three years old. Yet.


But, just TRY telling *HER* that. She gets all kinds of tweener-pissy about it. She has argued repeatedly--to ME, who gave birth to her, after all-- that on her next birthday she is going to be 6.

When random people ask her age, she usually tells THEM she's 6.

Not sure what the magic is about being 6-- except that's how old her sister really IS, and SHE gets to go to school and has a backpack and homework and a bike. And can go to dance classes, because SHE no longer wets her pants. Come to think of it, maybe being 6 *is* pretty nifty...!

Anyhoo, we were at an ice cream social at the home of fellow church choir members.
Wow, that sounds so very wholesome. <chuckle> 

Monkey is kind of the mascot of our church. She's little, cute, and very outgoing and talkative. Thus, the older kids are usually really cool about including her in whatever they're doing. Of course, with THEM, there's no whining, because they're cool and she wants to be like them. But, uh, Mom and Dad? Not so much, thus whine away...!?!

The kids (including Monk) had been banished to the expansive yard to play or chase each other, or whatever the hell would keep them busy. The grownups hung out on the screened-in porch or in the house, to better avoid the Mutant Brain-Eating Mosquito Swarm.

I was talking with a friendly mom, whose kids were also braving the M.B.E.M.S. (This is the same family we hung out with when Monkey unleashed her recollection of Ke$ha lyrics a few nights earlier.)

We were laughing about the "look" I get from my adorable offspring when I clarify to whomever is asking her that NO, she is NOT SIX; she is in fact, *TWO*.

It's the "MooOOooom, you're cramping my style" look I hadn't expected to see until she had at least hit puberty. My friend's girls are older--and the elder girl IS currently in the vicious, mood-swinging throes of puberty. So, she sees that same lovely look All. The. TIME.

So anyway, we're having a nice parental commiseration chat, relaxing... and see our children (her older daughter, and Le Monk) approach the screen-porch door.

Which, by the way, opens onto a (very nice, very SOLID) *brick* patio.

Said offspring are thus standing ON said BRICK patio... and Monkey has apparently gotten a piggy-back ride from her pubescent friend.

They reached the door, and Monkey said she wanted down... so the older child says, "OK! Here you go."


And my toddler flies off her back, to the VERY SOLID, BRICK patio. Cue the slow-mo...


I *flew* off my seat, very un-church-ly yelping "JESUS!!" as I tried to somehow get to her (through the door?) before her adorably body went splat.

Needless to say, I am neither magic nor coordinated, and she met the patio before I could intervene.


Luckily, she landed mostly on her bottom--and did NOT, in fact, bounce--so her precious, precocious noggin did not have a rude introduction to those nice, hard bricks.


I think my reaction actually scared her more than being dumped on her tush. She saw my freak-out-face and started crying.

I grabbed her, checked for impact and tried to slow my stampeding pulse.

The rush of Pure FEAR flew through me... how many parents, every SINGLE DAY, see their kids start what looks to be a normal day, only to have something tragic happen to change their lives forever? ...That kind of thing. I'm a world-champion worrier.


While I had jumped to grab Monkey, my Mom-Friend had also grabbed *her* offspring.

...By the back of the shirt. Like a mama lion. It was kinda cool, actually.

In the "you're-lucky-we're-in-public" tone, she barked: "Come. Here. NOW," and pulled her bewildered daughter aside. Note: I don't think her lips actually MOVED... I need to work on that technique.

I sat with Monkey, trying to calm both her and myself. Her dad and I explained that we do not want any of the kids carrying her around, because she's too little to get down safely, and that she had just scared the unwavering CRAP out of us. Which was not OK.

Monkey calmed down long before I did, decided she was "all done cwying" and bounded out to go play some more. Not a scratch, and back to our regularly scheduled program...

I sat there, shaking my head.

Just scared, and grateful... and, maybe just a little pissed off at the tween who had so unceremoniously dumped my toddler onto a BRICK FRIGGIN' PATIO.


However, it turned out that my irritation was ill-placed.


My Mom-Friend came back in and apologized, asking if Monkey was OK.

Daddy Doodle: Well, *Monk's* fine...but Mommy, ehh, not so much. (I shrugged. It was true.)


With a sly grin, Mom-Friend said she wanted us to know that she'd appropriately reamed her daughter for piggybacking and DROPPING a two-year-old on the patio... but that she'd had a pretty valid defense, as the conversation played out:

Mom-Friend: blah blah blah, you dropped a TWO-YEAR-OLD!!

Tween: Wait... what?!?!?  What two-year-old?!?

Mom-Friend: Monkey!! She. Is. TWO.


<wait for it...>


Tween:  Really?!!?! ... She told me she was 6!!!!


As Mom-Friend sooooooooo rightly pointed out: 

We are in BIG trouble with this kid.

Discussion ensued of a potential, unpleasant phone call in our future...from a not-so-friendly police officer, informing Mr. Doodle that his 15-year-old has been removed from a club and could he please come retrieve her underage butt. "What?15?!!?! She said she was 23!!"

Seriously?
We are kinda screwed.  :(

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