Yesterday at the pool, I worked hard to convince Mary that her flotation device really would keep her afloat without holding on to me or the side of the pool.  I finally resorted to deceptive tactics and would move close enough to the side of the pool to convince her to jump in and then would quickly back up so that she landed in the water and not on me.  Then I faced her to the side of the pool and had her reach and kick to get there, first from one arm’s reach away and then gradually to 4 or 5 feet away.  Once she got it, she no longer needed me and would jump and swim all on her own. 

She was so happy with herself, that she shouted, “I am AMAZING!”

*******

In typical preschooler fashion, Mary asked for a drink and then insisted, “I DO IT!  I DO IT!”

I assisted, but let her do it.  As she screwed on the lid to her cup, she muttered, “How come I always have to do everything?”

*******

I have found the Velveteen Rabbit.  He lives in my neighborhood and yard.  So far, he has stayed in the front and eaten the grass.  Katie wanted to feed him a carrot, but I was afraid he would then sniff out the ones growing in the backyard.  This bunny is obviously not a native to the wilderness, but he has obviously been living outdoors for some time.  I’m not sure if he was lost or abandoned.

Mary wants to adopt him.  Of course.

“But Greta would bark at him,” she said as she cried her crocodile tears.

Possibly Greta would eat the bunny.  I’m not sure, though.  The dog’s hunting instincts are pretty strong when there is a cat or a squirrel around.  With Velvet, though, she just shows curiosity.

Eating a leaf in the neighbor’s flower garden.

Yes, I’ve named the rabbit.  And we can keep it as a pet as long as it stays outside, in the front, and we don’t feed it.

A very long time ago, I occasionally watched television.  My husband would flip around to different channels as I sat next to him and read, and, sometimes, something would interest me, and I would set aside my book.

Once, we watched a show on children and lying.  Some researcher theorized that young children – under the age of 6 or so – were incapable of telling a lie.

Now, many years and 6 children later, I theorize that the researcher had very limited experience with young children.  But at the time, I, myself, had very limited experience with young children, and so I watched with fascination as the show led gullible me through the methodology employed to test the theory.

A little girl was given a Snow White doll.  The researcher explained that Snow White was on the run from the Wicked Witch.  The researcher helped the little girl hide the doll in a model tree or house and explained that she must not tell where Snow White was hidden to save Snow White.  The researcher got the little girl to agree that hiding Snow White was the morally correct thing to do.  Then the researcher had a Wicked Witch doll enter the scene, and she (the researcher) faked a Wicked Witch voice and asked the little girl where Snow White was hiding.  Repeatedly, this little girl and others pointed out Snow White’s hiding place.

Conclusion: young children can’t lie.

I wonder if that researcher, like me, now has a bunch of children.  And I wonder if she’s really embarrassed.  Because no matter what your preconceived notions of children are, you can not live with young children for very long before realizing that lying just happens.  Perhaps the little girls in the show were actually smarter than the researcher realized; they knew it was just a doll, and knew they didn’t have much stake in what happened in a fictitious story.  And they knew the researcher already knew where the Snow White doll was.  Duh.

I have a better way to test the same theory.  Put a child in a room with a bucket of crayons…and no paper.  Leave her alone for 5 minutes.  Bad things will happen.  And the child will definitely lie about it.

Last night, I was picking up the house.  In the corner by the front door, someone had propped an umbrella.  As I grabbed it to put it in the closet, I noticed scribble marks on the wall.  Mary was nearby, and I called her over.

“Is that pencil or crayon?” I asked her.  Note that I did not ask her if she did it or not.  I know the answer to that question.

“I don’t know,” she claimed. 

“Yes, you do, Mary.  Is it pencil or crayon?”

“I didn’t do it,” she said.

“Yes, you did, Mary.  I know you did.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“Oh, yes.”

Round 874 in the Naughty Chair. 

Now, I’m not saying that the average 3 year old could give a convincing cover up if the Wicked Witch is hot on your trail.  But “incapable of telling a lie”?  What parent in the world thinks that research was a good expenditure of tax money?

Most mornings, Mary makes her way into our bed between 5 and 6 am.  Sometimes she goes back to sleep, sometimes not.

Some mornings, like this morning, she comes in much, much earlier.  I don’t kow what time she came in, but around 430 am, Fritz came in because he had heard screaming outside.  Bill got him back into bed and assured him he likely heard a possum and/or cats fighting. 

When he came back to our bed, he commented on Mary’s ragged snoring, which I was desperately trying to ignore.  I scooped her up to take her back to her bed.

“Oh, no, she’s fine,” he said.  He hadn’t meant for me to have to get up.

“No, she’s driving me crazy,” I said.

I carried the girl, still snoring, back into her room.  As I gently set her down, her eyes opened.

“No,” she begged, “I won’t drive you crazy, Mom.”

I smiled, kissed her, and then took her hand and led her back to our room.

I read Mary a bedtime story and she pointed to a picture of Prairie Dawn dressed like a pirate.

“I want to be a pilot,” she said.

I’m sure she pronounced it that way because she’s three. 

And not because we had been watching any Gilbert and Sullivan.

Mary has been sick all week long.  On Tuesday, it was a low grade fever, but after that, the fever was very high – 104 degrees or more.  At one point, the ibuprofen wasn’t keeping the fever at bay for the full 6 hours.  Adding to my concern was this horrible snoring she developed which highlighted her ragged breathing (and kept me awake).  I felt like a mother with her first infant – afraid that if I didn’t stand constant vigil, she would stop breathing or asphyxiate.

Since she has had more than a few ear infections this year, I decided to take her into the doctor on Friday to make sure this hadn’t become more than a nasty virus that needed to work itself out.  Her ear were fine, but the poor girl had to suffer through a swab of her nose to check for the flu and a swab of her throat to check for strep.  The rapid test was negative, but they decided to put her on antibiotics over the weekend while waiting for the not-so-rapid test results. 

I’m not sure if it’s the drugs, or just time, but she is feeling much better today.  Her weight yesterday was 29 pounds…down from 33 pounds the last time I took her in December.  That’s a lot of weight to lose.  But since she just asked for her third bowl of Cheerios, I think she’ll be back up in short order.

Last Sunday, we attended Mass at the shrine in Orlando, Florida.  Afterward, we stopped by the gift store.  Just inside the doors were statues including one of Mary holding the Child Jesus.  He is reaching up and holding His Mother’s face on the soft underbelly of the chin.  I pointed this out to my Mary, and she said, “Just like me!”  She does this to me, all.the.time.  It is her comfort spot, and it drives me nuts, especially when she starts pulling and pinching.  She does that without thinking, and when I tell her to stop, she apologizes and then gently rubs me, which is almost as nerve-racking. 

Because the poor thing was miserable this week, she spent most of her time in my arms, burning up.  Her sleep was sporadic and light, and she was uncomfortable.  Her hand was almost constantly on my chin, and my thoughts frequently turned to that statue.  I wondered if I would be so annoyed if it were the Christ Child rubbing me.  Remembering that statue was one of the things that got me through an unproductive week without losing my temper every other hour.

Thank God for cherry flavored liquid Advil, antibiotics, and a perfectly timed viewing of inspirational artwork.