And here are my contributions to the “Out of the Mouths of Babes” and “Kids Say the Darndest Things” files:
Maeve is now beginning to make some serious progress in potty training. During a recent expedition to T*rget with Maeve, I found myself in the bathroom three times.
Three. Times. (I soon realized her telling me she needed to go potty was actually a reprieve from sitting in the red cart while I shopped; at home she still refuses to make any such declaration, which means every hour or so one of us leads her into the bathroom “to try.” But I digress.)
So, there we were, in the stall for the trillionth time that hour — What does one do with their cart in these situations, anyway? — when she actually did her business. Her face brightened as she was so very pleased with herself. As was I, of course.
However, my hushed congratulations and kisses of encouragement weren’t enough. She sat there, face aglow, awaiting a full-blown rendition of The Potty Dance — a silly fete that had been, until that moment, a nice little at-home tradition.
And so, Potty Dance I did. In a 3×4 foot stall.
And just as my jumping, clapping, spinning and singing died down, an unfamiliar voice pipes up from a couple stalls over:
“Um … [awkward silence] … first-time pottier?”
Rrrright. Didn’t know we had an audience.
(And no, we didn’t leave the bathroom until I was sure they’d left and were well out of sight.)
Yesterday Maeve, her Grandma Cookie and I had the opportunity to attend a free “Yoga for Toddlers” class. (Yes, Yoga. For toddlers. Is it just me or is that … sort of over the top?)
Maeve, donning comfy clothes and in bare feet, picked a bright green yoga mat. Mom and I were about to settle in toward the back of the room when the instructor asked the parents to join their children on the mats.
OK. First let me say I didn’t see that written anywhere on the brochure. Even in the fine print.
Second, I am soooo not a yoga-kind-of-girl — not necessarily because of the yoga itself but more because Me + Exercise = Not For Public Consumption (and I thought I wasn’t a math person! Wheee!).
You see, the whole exercise “concept” doesn’t happen often, I admit, so when it does? It ain’t pretty.)
Despite that, I just want to clarify that I am sure it was my constricting jeans that had everything to do with my inability to properly execute each slow and deliberate pose — and not my general out-of-shapeness and fundamental clumsiness. (I’m just sayin’.)
And although my mother so dutifully (as a grandmother) and so evil-ly (as a mother catching me in awkward and imbalanced positions) shot photos of our 45-minute yoga experience, they were taken on my camera and, therefore, shall never see the light o’ day.
But the best part about the day in which both my daughter and I would strike our very first Tree and Warrior One poses?
Before we ever left the house.
The first thing that morning, when I greeted her in her bedroom, I cheerfully asked: “Ready for some Yoga?”
Her smile fell. Her brows furrowed.
“Noooo, mommeeee, I want applesauce today.”
(I’m embarassed to admit how long it took to realize what the heck she was talking about.)
Last week, Maeve and I met friends and their children for dinner in a nearby restaurant that not only discounts burgers on Wednesdays but also offers coupons(!) so Thrifty Me is totally up for it.
And once again I spent more time in a bathroom stall than one should ever need to do.
On the third trip (whenever another child had to go, she suddenly had to go), just as Maeve was getting perched into position and I counted to 10 while looking for My Patient Place, someone in the neighboring stall began to, well, you know, do their business.
And then, it was like everything dragged to slow motion. I swear that I saw sparks as the neuron-thingies in my little bare-bummed baby’s brain connected, and I knew exactly what was about to happen.
I. Just. Couldn’t. Stop. It. In. Time.
Her mouth fell open, her big eyes widened and she loudly exclaimed to the neighboring stall:
[Audible Gasp!] “I am Soooo Proud of You! Good job!”
Ack. There wasn’t much to do but laugh. (And, of course, hide in the stall until they left the bathroom.)