Zuzu

You can’t take back something you said earlier, but you can say you are sorry; you can try to do better and you can try not to laugh where the small ones can hear you. Zuzu is, ahem; a verbal child. She likes to talk. Just ask my mother- she gets it from me. I would estimate that she talks from sun up to sun down; but honestly one of the first conversations of each every day is about the fact that it is still dark outside and who in and out of house is awake and who is still asleep. That should tell you something about which wee hours of the morning the conversations begin in our house. You really don’t know what you sound like until you have heard yourself coming out of the mouth of babes. You can wonder if “the things they say” are something your child heard at the market, or at school or on television. But really, I know it’s me. Well, Lovey too sometimes, but yeah; probably mostly me; actually.  Probably and actually being 2 of the first words we realized we must say all of the time without noticing as they became peppered into her vocabulary at about 30 months.

Talking and listening are the area we struggle most with in relation to Zuzu. The joy of her being so verbal is getting a fairly clear picture of how she thinks. The hardship of her being so verbal is getting a little too clear picture of how we talk. She is; in all fairness, 3 years old. The brain of a 3-year-old isn’t well developed in terms of insight and judgment. This is what makes 3 year olds so fun- and also so raw. Often when I’m frustrated I have a hard time remembering to keep it to myself; in terms of facial expression, tone and volume. We all tend to talk a lot in our house. When Zuzu senses trouble is headed her way, she is quick to head it off with a redirection of the issue. The other day I was chained to the pump. Zuzu starts popping her head in the room and chatting me up. At one point I was fairly certain I smelled a warning flare and heard a barking spider or two. I asked Zuzu what she is to do when she has to go poo-poo. She quickly parroted, “I listen to my body Momma. I go poo-poo in the potty”. Good- so far. Then a few minutes later I smell and hear a oncore. Just as I raise my voice to get Zuzu’s attention I catch the clear grunt on her face. I call out; still fairly calmly, but perhaps a bit more sharply, “What did we just talk about Zu?”. Her response- ” Welllllll Momma, you have to be nice to people when they are trying to go poo-poo.” This conversation continues in vain until I can get Lovey’s attention to go attend to someone’s bummy- in terms of wiping that is.

This has become a standard phrase in our house.  Sometimes it is embellished by her proselytizing to me along the lines of, “Momma, you have to be nice to be a good Christian, Momma.” But often it is just a reminder that I have to be nice when a person is …..(insert action here such as putting shoes on, changing dresses, eating their spaghettios). It is still charming. It’s nice to know there is an emphasis on the importance of being nice to one another.  And Lord knows I need the reminder as much as the next Momma does.  And frankly she is right on the money when she lets me know, “No one likes it when you are frustrated Momma.” as well as the accuracy of her findings that, “You make people sad when you are frustrated Momma.” All this from a newly minted 3 year old. I can only imagine what we’re in for as their powers of reason advance and as the small ones equal and maybe one day outnumber us older, slower, grumpier ones. Usually when she lets me know about my need to hone in my haughtiness, I take it in stride and smile, because she is right. No one likes it, least of all me. She doesn’t always win the match point though.  This weekend as she was being sent to her room for time out for the third time in the hour, I could hear her bemoaning, “NO! Not again!”; as she stomped off with her pigtails swinging out behind her.

When Zuzu was about 15 months old she was eating her snack sitting in her little booster-space-saver chair in the kitchen. Her snack accidently got knocked to the ground. She looks over the tray, says “Oh, shit” and then goes back to eating what is left of her snack. Fast forward to this past weekend. Once again we are at the kitchen table. She is actually eating a meal with us. Mealtime is challenging in our home. What the pre-schooler likes one day is likely to end up pushed to the side the next. Recently Zuzu has decided that chicken is indeed tasty and worthy of her devotion. She looks to Lovey and asks for more, he points to his plate in explanation of there being no more. She turns to me with the same request. I inform her that, indeed we are out of chicken, but if she likes it we can add it to the grocery list again for next week. Her tiny person response cuts me to the quick as she stares at her plate and exclaims “Dammit”.  When she hears no acknowledgment from the grown-ups; she looks around and repeats with a little more emphasis. “DAMMIT!”  After she leaves the table, Lovey looks over and asks me where I think she got that from. Ummmm…let’s hope not Sesame Street. Yeahhhhh, probably me.

And no, she did not get sent to Time Out for that one. I’m not much of a fan of hypocrisy. And, well no one likes it when I’m unfair either.