talk about it more

a virtual baby book

When she was two, Fiona regularly said "Talk about it more!" to express her desire to know more about whatever we were discussing.

Monday, October 27, 2008

The end of the game

I was upstairs brushing my hair and teeth and getting ready to head out the door for a meeting. Mandy and David were downstairs with the rest of the family chatting with Ian and getting oriented in the house. I was pretty close to on time when Nora burst into the bathroom, claiming plaintively, "I don't want to wear these clothes! I want to change!"

It's important to know something about Nora at this point: she doesn't really ever want to change clothes, per se. Once she's in different clothes, pajamas, whatever, for a couple of minutes she's fine. But the actual CHANGING of clothing is usually met with loud, angry distaste. When time rolls around to get into our out of the current day or night of clothing, she doesn't want to take that off either-- even though she kicked like crazy about getting into it in the first place. But she was in already for the day, and I'd already dealt with that once within the past hour, and wasn't eager to repeat it so quickly.

I said to her, "No? You don't want to wear a spin coat? I can't even believe it! And it's blue! I bet David might be wearing blue today. Maybe you could head downstairs and see what David is wearing. Maybe both of you will wear blue today, do you think?"

No, she did not think. "NO! I don't want to!" was her predictable reply. So I said the thing that changes her mind every time, inexplicably, as if she can't help herself: reverse psychology. "Well, just make sure you don't go down to find out what David is wearing. It might be blue, for Pete's sake."

Right on cue she chirped, "I will go downstairs!", turned, then stopped in the middle of the bathroom. She made an impatient sound, then turned around and laid her head and arms on top of the toilet seat in consternation.

"What's the matter, Nor?" I asked her. She looked up at me sadly. Her answer was plaintive and wholly sincere. "I don't like that game. Let's not play that game any more." Even as I watched her wheels turning she looked so genuinely sad that I wished I could suck back every single time we've done this parlor trick to save a minute of toddler time.

Fair enough, Nora. Fair enough. No more.

2 Comments:

At 7:58 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Good for you...and for Nora. love Gran

 
At 2:30 AM, Anonymous Anita said...

I saved at least one struggle per day when my girls were little- I let them sleep in their clothes! (They wore mostly knit things that didn't show wrinkles)

 

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