Children and a memory (finally)
Feeling rather nostalgic this evening, so thought I'd share something I remembered today (a red letter day) that was worth telling, not so much for the content, but just to illustrate how literally children take things sometimes. It should serve as a lesson to all of us to make ourselves clear when we speak to children, so herewith follows another true Minnie story, I swear. It's one of my favorites.
My son was all of about three and a half, I believe, and it was hot, really hot, August I think, and he was playing outside (as children used to do in the days of old). He was a cute little guy with long blonde hair and full, rosy cheeks and huge blue eyes. I was inside, baking chocolate chip cookies (my Betty Crocker happy homemaker days, I suppose). He had asked me for a cookie on a mad dash through the house and I had said no, that it would ruin his appetite before lunch (we actually cooked lunch back then) and he, of course, was right out the back door again and off to do things that three year olds do out in the back yard. (Children took "no" for an answer back then). Soon, he came whipping in once more, terribly excited and proceeded to tell me how high he had jumped in order to grab a lower branch of the tree in the back yard. So, in the kitchen, he jumped as high as he could to illustrate just how he had done it, and as he did so, he slammed his head into an overhead shelf holding recipe books (they were VERY dusty, as I recall). It wasn't a life-threatening injury, but it hurt and he wailed and cried and held his head. Already hot and sweaty, he was really overheated now. I had just taken a fresh batch of cookies out of the oven and so, being the old softie that I am, I scooped a cookie off the cookie sheet and laid it in front of this crying little sweaty blonde and said, "Here, sweetie, see if this will help it feel better."
The whimpering subsided as I turned my attention to putting yet another batch of dough into the oven. Several seconds passed as I busied on and then I heard, between the slightest of whimpers, "Mommy, it's not helping." At this point I turned to see this incredibly literal three year old, with his platinum hair in a bowl cut of the ages, with his right hand holding the chocolate chip cookie, still warm, smashed up against his head where he had hit it on the overhead shelf. The melting chocolate chips were running off his head with the sweat.
I had, afterall, said, "See if this will help it feel better." Apparently, it didn't. It did, however, help me to smile for many years afterward.
minnie o'
Comments
- -- Posted by goat lady on Mon, Jul 30, 2007, at 9:18 PM
- -- Posted by qglenellyn on Mon, Jul 30, 2007, at 10:05 PM
- -- Posted by Noreenmhyslop on Mon, Jul 30, 2007, at 10:07 PM
- -- Posted by goat lady on Tue, Jul 31, 2007, at 7:08 AM
- -- Posted by gardengirl on Tue, Jul 31, 2007, at 12:50 PMMinne O'Pausal's response:I hope you told her you slithered up that pole inch by inch because, even though it was a grueling experience day to day, you performed your duties in order to put food on the table, lest she ever experience a pang of hunger. They need to know the effort we put forth every once in awhile, you know.
- -- Posted by gardengirl on Wed, Aug 1, 2007, at 9:48 AM
- -- Posted by goat lady on Wed, Aug 1, 2007, at 8:07 PM
- -- Posted by Noreenmhyslop on Wed, Aug 1, 2007, at 11:06 PM
- -- Posted by Ducky on Sun, Aug 5, 2007, at 7:43 PM
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