I have been adamant about not wanting to blog about my children, not wanting to "use" them before they are old enough to have a choice about being used.
I think I can safely say these two things, however, without feeling I am violating their trust.
Also, I very much want to remember what they said someday. It's so easy to forget.
Information you must know: My son is not very old, but he's becoming a war history buff. The books are almost bigger than he is. He inhales them. He started with the Civil War, but soon migrated to Hannibal's attack on the Romans and the strategy of the battle of Canae. Lately, he's moved on to the twentieth century and yesterday, he used that as a metaphor when he reminded me of a time more than a year ago. I had taken a trip with my littlest one and left him behind, and he was feeling neglected, so I let him stay home from school and be around me. "Couldn't we have a repeat of that?" he asked. "You let me have a day off. You know, like the way WWII followed WWI?"
And lest we forget that they do not yet have a fully developed brain, he couldn't understand why I burst into howls of laughter, even when I carefully explained it to him.
A little later, my youngest, who is at that age of figuring out the most important things, sat on a chair and put her legs "Criss-cross,' crossed one on top of the other.
"Criss-cross, apple-sauce," I said.
"No," she said with emphasis. "This is criss-cross. Applesauce is here." And she pointed to her crotch.
I did not laugh at her. Not then. After all, it makes sense, if you're three or four.
I just want to remember it, all, someday. The sweetness and the laughter. (And the silly putty stuck to the car's upholstery)
Sara
I think I can safely say these two things, however, without feeling I am violating their trust.
Also, I very much want to remember what they said someday. It's so easy to forget.
Information you must know: My son is not very old, but he's becoming a war history buff. The books are almost bigger than he is. He inhales them. He started with the Civil War, but soon migrated to Hannibal's attack on the Romans and the strategy of the battle of Canae. Lately, he's moved on to the twentieth century and yesterday, he used that as a metaphor when he reminded me of a time more than a year ago. I had taken a trip with my littlest one and left him behind, and he was feeling neglected, so I let him stay home from school and be around me. "Couldn't we have a repeat of that?" he asked. "You let me have a day off. You know, like the way WWII followed WWI?"
And lest we forget that they do not yet have a fully developed brain, he couldn't understand why I burst into howls of laughter, even when I carefully explained it to him.
A little later, my youngest, who is at that age of figuring out the most important things, sat on a chair and put her legs "Criss-cross,' crossed one on top of the other.
"Criss-cross, apple-sauce," I said.
"No," she said with emphasis. "This is criss-cross. Applesauce is here." And she pointed to her crotch.
I did not laugh at her. Not then. After all, it makes sense, if you're three or four.
I just want to remember it, all, someday. The sweetness and the laughter. (And the silly putty stuck to the car's upholstery)
Sara
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