the decision-making process

The Family is considering buying a new (very old) home. Fret not, local readers: we aren’t leaving Our Town any time soon. We just found a house around the corner that is pretty swell.

This being a serious decision, I decided to enlist my favorite sounding board: The Kidling. I asked her at breakfast this morning what she thought about our home vs. the prospect and which she preferred. Here’s what I got:

“Well, it would be good to have a basement that’s further away from the windows in case of a tornado. This one has (counts) one, two, three, four, five, six, seven windows–and the door–right by the basement.”

“Well, that one IS a lot bigger than ours,” she noted.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing to you?” I asked.
“Medium.”

“Let’s think about which one would be the nicer setting for Halloween? Which would have a better table for gourds?”

“This house does have something I like.”
“What’s that?” I questioned.
“There’s a race room.”

Hmm. A race room… we might need to be sure that transitions to the (potential) new digs. Couldn’t have a little gal lacking that now, could we?

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things that go **drip** in the night

The Kidling, bless her heart, is way ahead of the curve on virtually everything. Gross motor skills, language acquisition, charming people’s socks off… the list really could go on and on. I’m not going to bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that her list of positive attributes (a sense of humor, good hair…) includes easy toilet training.

That The Kidling is such a quick study is a beautiful and amazing thing; however, it has a downfall. I tend to be blindsided by backsliding. Because of The Kidling’s general pre-eminence and brilliance (and fabulosity and light and…), I forget that she will occasionally have incidents.

Or shall I say, accidents.

The Kidling went through a period a few weeks ago where, several times each week, she had accidents in the middle of the night. No surprise, really, except that it is. Add the 3 a.m. factor to the surprise factor, and The Mama can’t promise a lot in terms of her reaction.

My reaction. Who do I think I am, Bob Dole?

As I was saying. My 3 a.m. brain leaves a lot to be desired. This would be true of anyone, but it is especially true of a dripping wet child who wonders what the heck her mama, The Mama, is thinking. When The Kidling wet the bed one night, I started to get her out of her wet pajamas and moved on to stripping the urine-soaked bed. The Kidling, cold and wet, offered a swift rebuke, “Mo-om! Dry me off first! Persons are more importanter than beds!”

Oops. Stupid 3 a.m. brain…

priorities

Overheard in Chicago

About three-fourths through our car ride home, we made a pit stop to fill a gas tank, empty bladders, and buy more junk to eat. When The Mama went to pay for The Kidling’s treat, I found my wallet empty. We walked out to the car, buckled Alice into her car seat, and then she stayed with The Dada while I raided the coin holder and ran back inside to pay. While I was paying the clerk for Alice’s sugar-poison, the following exchange occurred:

Alice: Don’t move the car!

The Dada: Why?

Alice: I want my snack!

The Dada: So you care more about your snack than your mom?

Alice: (pause) Yeah.