Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Why I love my kids

This is kind of a re-try of the Valentine's Day entry I know I wrote and saved on the computer, which the computer evidently ate. I am writing this at 9 p.m. because even my ADD-addled brain couldn't handle the logic leaps in the most recent episode of Glee and I needed a Hulu break. (Confession: I have a deep love for bad television. I might like opera and classical music and literature, but I also love me some awful sitcoms. When I was eight months pregnant with Lily and seriously insomniac, Netflix made my month by hosting all of the seasons of The Secret Life of the American Teenager. Feel free to close your browser now in disgust. I also like Kraft dinner.)

My kids are wonderful. They're compassionate, cute, funny little creatures and while I am completely exhausted by bedtime and some days feel ready for an extended stay at the nearest mental health facility, I am so very blessed to have them in my life.

And while I could wax poetic for hours about cute cards they make me or early morning snuggles, that's not why you read this blog, so onto the, er, quirkier reasons I adore my offspring.

*They love animals. Anna really loves our cats. Pamina has been quarantined in the family room since her surgery, and it's mostly for her own protection. I'm not a heartless pet owner. When I see Anna hugging Figaro just a little too snugly around his fuzzy little neck, or attempting to pet him especially vigorously, I intervene. "Nice to kitty," I remind her. "Do gentle. Soft." "But me love him," she'll reply, attempting to tighten her grip as I try to remove her from the situation. Note that the cat is sitting through this voluntarily, and Figaro is a remarkably large animal who could easily get out of her grip. This is why I have less compassion for them. Any sane animal would stay the heck out of her reach, not try to climb into bed with her when there's no adult to rescue them.

*They play "house." Sometimes this is your typical "Little House" scenario with baby dolls and dresses and Mommy and Daddy serving dinner. Often it's more "Dr. House" with all the relationship functionality that implies: On more than one occasion, I have caught Mary, clutching a baby doll, scream like a harpy at Anna, who is usually either trying to work the television or type on the laptop: "TIM!!!!!" Ladies Home Journal will be along to present me with my Awesome Wife award any time now, I'm sure.

*They love music. Mary's favorite song for the longest time was Puff the Magic Dragon and Anna is fond of Yo Gabba Gabba tunes. So Mary also knows all the words to (the cleaned up Glee version of) "Gold Digger" and "Bust Your Windows," the latter which she tried to sing to Lily as a lullaby once. So what?

*They like to spend time together and share. This is only a problem when they both decide they've put off using the bathroom until the last possible moment and try to use the potty at the same time. (Note to Tim: Yes, that happened, and yes, I would like to win the Lottery so we can get started on that home addition STAT.)

*They're social and fun. Mary loves talking to people and Anna, when she warms up in a given situation, is also very friendly. Now they just need to teach Lily, who is also quite charismatic, that two in the morning is never a good time for an extended "grin and babble" session.

*They're punctual. Wake up is never a minute later than 7 a.m., often no later than 6:15, and we don't have to be anywhere most days until 10 a.m. That's commitment to a cause, folks.

*They have excellent memories. Mary will still gleefully talk to anyone about weekend trips to New Hampshire, swimming in the pool on my mother's deck last summer, or the time I "broke Daddy's red car and now we don't have it anymore" and that, folks, was all the way back in 2010. I don't worry about her future employment opportunities because the courts are always looking for stenographers.

Or she could always be a card counter.

1 comment:

  1. That last line just made a very vivid picture of Mary in the movie "21" come to my mind.