A couple of weeks ago Sadie, 6, announced that she would make breakfast every day. I guess she figured since I’m not doing it, someone had to. And it might as well be her. I like that attitude.
This morning she made oatmeal and scrambled eggs. Everyone ate it. Except me. I had already eaten my sausage egg biscuit in bed, courtesy of hubby.
Yesterday Sadie showed me her hand. It was red, and scratched. I kissed it tenderly.
“Mom, you know that really doesn’t make it feel better.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
She’s growing up.
She’s more Ramona Quimby than Dora.
When did this happen?
Yesterday, just as I was getting irritated at the thought of helping her clean her room again, which I do almost every day, yet by 10 AM it looks like a tornado came through it, hip deep in detritus.
At some point mid-morning I asked her to please go clean her room for 10 minutes.
“Oh, I’ve already been cleaning it.”
I got up from my beloved spot on the couch to see if I could actually tell anything had been done.
It was spotless and completely organized. Everything on her desk was in neat little piles. No trash or laundry or bedding or God-knows-what-else scattered everywhere.
My Grandma, for whom I am named (the Lee part, not the Alice part), has an expression for a child who seems older than her years.
Growny. Pronounced grown-ee. As in, “Look at her, she’s so growny. She cooked breakfast all by herself. Bless her heart.”
This is the same women who declared to my Father, upon hearing the news of my 6th pregnancy, “Well shut my mouth!”
I don’t know if it’s one of those funny words old Southerners say that ends up being pure perfect old English – like “reckon”, or if it’s just a made up Grandmaism.
She has all the signs of readiness.
She is highly verbal. She points to her diaper and says “pee” or “poo” when the appropriate event has taken place. She resists diaper changes. She pulls the diaper off whenever possible. She says “potty”. She brings us her “Big Girls Use The Potty” books and asks us to read them to her. She finds her potties and brings them to the living room. She sits on her potties – naked or fully clothed.
When I look down at the keyboard, the letters are climbing all over each other and fuzzy. My eyes go all wonky at this point in the pregnancy. I’m not ready.
She is though.
So many times with these kids I find that by the time I get around to teaching them something, they’ve already learned it. Maybe I’ll look up in my second trimester and she will have potty trained herself.
My oldest’s voice has become so deep and manly that when he talks, sometimes I don’t recognize him and think my ex husband is in the house. His feet are monstrous.
The 10 year old makes more money on eBay every month than I do. My 8 year old looks like a supermodel with lip gloss and dimples so big you can eat soup out of them.
These kids are too growny around here.