A growing list of demands

Christmas dinner #2, with Mommy's
side of the family!

Every day as I put Elise down for her nap, Kalina plays quietly in her room as she waits for her own story and snuggle. And almost every day, she needs me for something during this 10-minute period of time--possibly to re-dress one of her Calico Critters, help her blow her nose, or find a missing toy. So she emerges from her imaginary world and comes to find me in the real one, and today, it went like this:

Kalina sneaks quietly into Elise's room holding all the bedding from the bunk beds she/Lamby received for Christmas. This includes two "mattresses," a comforter and a pillow. 

The 3-year-old: "Lamby spit up all over her bedding and we need to wash it in the washing machine.

The whole family attended
Christmas morning #2!

Me: "Sure, okay." Thinking fast. "Why don't you find something in your room you can use for a washing machine?"

Kalina: "No, I want you to put it in the real washing machine."

Me: "Um." Initially stumped, but triumphant, with: "How about you put it at the top of the stairs and I'll wash it for you during your downtime?"

Kalina: "Okay. The real washing machine." Just in case I was confused.

I couldn't finish poor Elise' story without cracking up. After I returned downstairs, I folded it nicely on the couch and hoped Kalina would be fooled.

This describes our house lately, as we're as infested with germs as we are with requests.

Elise got the hang of unwrapping.

Elise, on the other hand, has very little language to make her demands known, but manages to anyway, occasionally without screams. She uses her pointer finger, emphatic grunts, and the occasional first syllable of a word to let us know exactly what she wants. 

Elise: Points at brownie pan. Points at her own mouth. "MMMMMM!!!" she states, almost toppled by her enthusiasm. After she regains her balance, her eyes pierce mine and I'm allowed one second to respond favorably before she either repeats herself, even more emphatically, or screams and writhes on the floor.

What do you think she wants? And how does she know that brownies are delicious? And will she survive the tantrum if I tell her that no, she may not have one?

Lamby gets tucked into her/Kalina's
new bunk beds.

Some of Elise's requests leave no room for misinterpretation, which is unfortunate because the little girl does not yet understand that comprehension does not mean they will be granted. The answer to, "Can I please put the battery in my mouth right now?" will still be a very firm "no, but look over here at this really cool toy giraffe!" even when Elise can ask the question perfectly in three different languages. Comprehension makes squat worth of difference.

On the other hand, some of Kalina's requests are reasonable, politely spoken and humanly possible. "Now it's my turn to play with the toy," said Kalina sweetly in the car the other day about a mini slinky that I'd handed a weary Elise to keep her happy on the way home. (This technique rarely works, but the way, but in this instance, it had.)

Elise uses her new tools to help Daddy
build a new squirrel manger.

Yes, Sweetie it is your turn. But I'm not sure I can dig up a more exciting toy to distract Elise with, wrest the slinky from Elise's grip, hand it to you and endure the rage the follows in the space of even a very long stoplight. In one of those super-mom moments that never would've happened last week in my never-ending head cold/sleepless night semi-coma, I instead managed to distract Kalina and the subject was dropped.

Both girls can be mightily specific in what they'd like, topped only by some celebrities. For instance, after brushing Elise's teeth the other night, she demanded a drink of water, just like Big Sister. "Duh," she insisted, pointing at a paper cup.

Kalina and Uncle Tom both helped
Angela a good deal with the puzzle.

Not entirely a newbie at this whole parenting thing anymore, I filled the cup with about 1/4 inch of water, enough for a toddler-sized swig, and handed it over, draping us both in a towel because bathtime, which we'd just finished, gets me wet enough already. Elise grinned at it, took a sip, and asked for more ("Mo-oh," with the emphasis on the word's second syllable). Since the child had proven herself responsible with 1/4 inch, I doubled her amount and handed it back. More grins and a giggle followed--and then a demand for even more water, without drinking what she'd had. We went through this a couple more times, me continuing to add water because by now I was intrigued and amused, and still somewhat protected by a fluffy towel. Finally, when the cup was 2/3 full, the baby had received what she'd been hoping for: apparently, a paper cup 2/3 full of water. She smiled gleefully at it for a good long while before I convinced her she'd be even happier in her jammies and off to bed.

Touring the transportation museum.

Elise puts in a good showing for a 1-year-old, but I don't think anyone can top a 3-year-old's specific requests. Kalina once spent a good 10 minutes telling me how to take care of a stuffed cow and a stuffed kitten while she went upstairs to get Lamby. I was to hold them if they cried, which they might do while she's gone, and not walk away, and feed the cow grass if it got hungry, and myriad other things that I have now forgotten (but don't tell Kalina, lest I not be asked to babysit anymore). Anyone who's ever watched either of my kids for me knows where she gets this from.

And then there are the things I'm demanded to avoid doing. "I'm going to fix a bowl of ice cream for everyone!" I might announce indulgently, gathering up our play ice cream. "No, because Lamby ate all the ice cream and now she wants to save the rest in the freezer, and the kittens can't have ice cream because they are full, and Lamby is using all the bowls for milk for the kittens," might be the response, which undoubtedly makes sense to someone. Alright, no one gets any ice cream, I guess. My mistake.

Kalina in the navigator's seat of a
train (which she preferred to the driver's seat).

My favorite, though, is they turn my demands back at me. "Kalina, will you please empty the silverware from the dishwasher?" I ask. "I'll do it after you read me this book," she replies. She's picked up on a parenting technique I use, and has the smarts to use it against me. Fortunately, I'm more persistent, and my logic is a bit more developed. An, "I'll read the book after the silverware is emptied," springs Kalina into action, and I've won. Or wait...has she? I would've read the book anyway, right? Of course I would've.

Mostly, my girls' requests are all in good fun--but they keep me on my toes. After all, how is a mommy supposed to wash a sinkfull of dishes when she's being called away every 30 seconds to search for a toy banana, help someone pretend a sock is a mitten, help clean up discarded crayon wrappers, retrieve a book from behind a toy oven, hold Lamby because she'll cry if she's set down, so my to-do list grows exponentially even as I work at it. And yet, I can't say that the banana, sock/mitten, crayon wrappers, book and Lamby aren't as important as my dishes. I guess that's what makes motherhood such a demanding job to begin with.