“Mommy, I putta books by the wall,” Sunshine announced as she marches down the hallway, my book bag in tow.
“Okay, thank you,” I said. The bag was almost as tall as she was, but she managed to prop it back against the wall beside the door, where I had dropped it when I got home from school.
When we finished supper, I took my book bag to the living room and dropped onto the couch. Sunshine climbed up beside me and took out the pen case. She loved opening it and closing it, taking out the pens, putting them back and taking out other pens. As a lover of fine pens myself, I can understand her delight in them.
I finished reviewing my agenda to see what I needed to read. Putting it aside, I cracked open my creative nonfiction anthology. She asked for the agenda. I flipped to a page I don’t care about (the student association president’s page or something), and she began drawing.
Several pages later, I heard her say, “I putta sticker there,” and glanced over to see her covering my agenda in flags. With a humfy breath—both at her and at myself for not watching her—I rescued the last of the flags and gave her a warning again that she can play with my pens, but not my “stickers” or whiteout.
I returned to my reading. I was only halfway through the essay when Sunshine tired of playing school with Mommy and slid off the couch to take the toy Lily had been playing with.
The next day, when I flipped open my agenda to look up the short story I needed to read for my other class, I saw that Sunshine didn’t stick to the student association president’s page. She drew circles all around my notes about WRIT 100—Post Exercise 3 to Forum and Read “Writing in Scenes.” I smiled at it. I guess if Mommy can write there, she figured she could too.
Life with a Toddler
Sunshine seems to have inherited my problem of long legs and a skinny waist, such that most of her pants don’t fit very well. I took in quite a few, but jeans don’t take in very well, so I bought her a velcro belt.
The other day, when a new pair of jeans were sliding down around her hips, I took her upstairs to find her belt. As I pulled it out of the drawer, she cried, “Found a seat belt, Mommy!”
I was wrapping presents for the weddings we attended before we left Alberta. Sunshine sat at the other end of the table with a snack, watching as I carefully measured and cut and folded paper.
Then she piped up, “Good job, Mommy! Good job!”
Last week, I unpacked our board games from the two big banker’s boxes they’d been packed in and stacked the boxes by the door. Shortly after, my husband walked up to the door and looked at Sunshine’s shoes scattered around. She had about four pairs in circulation right then. He asked if there was some way we organize them, like maybe putting them in a box.
Sunshine promptly grabbed a banker’s box and said, “I put shoes in a box.”