In the Pink
The four-year-old is quite the little character. She is sassy one moment, then demure and shy the next.
No matter the mood or time of day, there is always a sparkle in her eye. It is more of a flame when she is mad, a glisten when she is sad or tired, and a thousand little lights when all is good and right in her world.
Hands down, pink is her absolute most favorite color. While she is partial to fuschia, she turns her nose up at pastel, and craves everything that is that shade of Pepto-Bismol pink. (Instead of coating and soothing my stomach, that shade gives me the heaves.)
The wee child awoke, as she normally does, with a laugh and smile this morning. I heard her feet pittering and pattering through the house to my bed first thing.
Breathless, she arrived with day school calendar in hand and after a very brief "Good Morning, Mommy," shoved it in front of my still closed eyes and asked me what was scheduled at school today.
It's a good thing I am near-sighted. A one-eyed perusal of said calendar revealed "Bubble Day" in celebration of things beginning with "B".
Panic-stricken, the wee child announced: "I don't have any more bubbles. I'm all out."
A non-response from me resulted in rapid shaking of my head and shoulders by very small hands with a pleading: "Mooommmmy! What are YOU going to do?"
Finally sitting up in bed, I took the calendar from her and looked at it properly. Pointing a finger to the appropriate date, I explained it did not say we had to bring bubbles for bubble day.
Satisfied, she stated: "Well, that's a good thing, otherwise, you would have to pick up bubbles this morning."
Rubbing my eyes and dragging myself from bed, I decided to let that one slide and merely instructed her to get dressed.
After a shower, the imp returned wearing no less than four different shades of pink. Quite proud of the ensemble she was sporting, she sashayed here and there around my bathroom; however, she was very careful not to ask: "How do I look?"
As I applied the obligatory war mask for the day, I asked: "Did you brush your teeth? your hair?"
"Yes, yes, Mommy, I did all that."
"Why don't you put on a white shirt and white socks, then you will look pretty with your pink shorts and pink shoes."
"White doesn't match what I'm wearing, Mommy."
"It matches your pockets."
A rapid inspection by little hands and little eyes showed she was not seeing what I saw.
"What pockets, Mommy?"
"Your shorts are on inside out, sweetie, white pockets are hanging out on your behind."
Her face then matched the rest of her.
No matter the mood or time of day, there is always a sparkle in her eye. It is more of a flame when she is mad, a glisten when she is sad or tired, and a thousand little lights when all is good and right in her world.
Hands down, pink is her absolute most favorite color. While she is partial to fuschia, she turns her nose up at pastel, and craves everything that is that shade of Pepto-Bismol pink. (Instead of coating and soothing my stomach, that shade gives me the heaves.)
The wee child awoke, as she normally does, with a laugh and smile this morning. I heard her feet pittering and pattering through the house to my bed first thing.
Breathless, she arrived with day school calendar in hand and after a very brief "Good Morning, Mommy," shoved it in front of my still closed eyes and asked me what was scheduled at school today.
It's a good thing I am near-sighted. A one-eyed perusal of said calendar revealed "Bubble Day" in celebration of things beginning with "B".
Panic-stricken, the wee child announced: "I don't have any more bubbles. I'm all out."
A non-response from me resulted in rapid shaking of my head and shoulders by very small hands with a pleading: "Mooommmmy! What are YOU going to do?"
Finally sitting up in bed, I took the calendar from her and looked at it properly. Pointing a finger to the appropriate date, I explained it did not say we had to bring bubbles for bubble day.
Satisfied, she stated: "Well, that's a good thing, otherwise, you would have to pick up bubbles this morning."
Rubbing my eyes and dragging myself from bed, I decided to let that one slide and merely instructed her to get dressed.
After a shower, the imp returned wearing no less than four different shades of pink. Quite proud of the ensemble she was sporting, she sashayed here and there around my bathroom; however, she was very careful not to ask: "How do I look?"
As I applied the obligatory war mask for the day, I asked: "Did you brush your teeth? your hair?"
"Yes, yes, Mommy, I did all that."
"Why don't you put on a white shirt and white socks, then you will look pretty with your pink shorts and pink shoes."
"White doesn't match what I'm wearing, Mommy."
"It matches your pockets."
A rapid inspection by little hands and little eyes showed she was not seeing what I saw.
"What pockets, Mommy?"
"Your shorts are on inside out, sweetie, white pockets are hanging out on your behind."
Her face then matched the rest of her.
posted by Feisty at 8:23 AM
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