This week’s Saturday followed much as last week’s, in that first thing in the morning I grabbed Sam and we headed out to give Geralyn some semi-alone time. Instead of a museum, though, we went to a Krispi Kreme donut place. After getting over her initial fascination with the donut conveyor belt and the glaze waterfall (“glazefall?”), Sam realized that HOLY CRAP we were actually there TO EAT DONUTS! She had had these circular treats before, but for some reason the fact that there was an entire restaurant that sold nothing but donuts got her keyed up. We procured our breakfast, which she attacked with intense concentration and sporting the appropriate headware:
She only ate two of the things, but then again for a person of her weight it was probably more like eating the better part of a dozen. This fact dawned on me while I was strapping her into her car seat on the way out and I noticed that he eyes wouldn’t stop moving. Furthermore, she wouldn’t stop talking, with most of her ramblings consisting of verbatim recitations of Curious George scripts. So we went to the park, where I set her down to run and bounce around the equipment like a giant pinball.
Of course, she had a great time. As did many other children who were brought out by the awesome weather. Sam is a pretty friendly kid and has no problem running up to someone about her size and sparking a playdate. The odd thing, is, though, that her playmates seem pretty much interchangeable to her, to the point where she calls all girls “Elizabeth” whether that’s their name or not. I found this out on Saturday while following Sam and a newly minted friend around the park with Sam saying “Jump on the slide, Elizabeth” and “Let’s get on the merry go round, Elizabeth” and “Climb through the tunnel, Elizabeth.”
At one point the little girl did something that I absently thought was worthy of praise and I said “Good job, Elizabeth.”
The girl stopped what she was doing, looked up at me, and said with some annoyance, “I’m Lori.”
Thus did I begin to suspect Sam’s new social quirk, which was confirmed a few minutes later when she said of another girl, “Elizabeth gave me some of her corn.” And it was good that I had a working theory by then, since this new statement was pretty weird to begin with.
The next day was Mother’s Day, for which I am always at a loss. Not for lack of wanting to treat Geralyn to something related to her relatively new role in life, but because I’m so terrible at getting gifts and she’s so terrible at giving suggestions. When asked what she wanted, Ger told me to get a machine that could stop time, so that she could work on her scrapbooking for a few days while the rest of us are frozen still, caught in the act of asking where our blankets are or if she’s ever going to buy more Diet Coke. I told her that not only did Target not sell such a contraption, but it was probably against any number of the laws of nature. This did not sway her, so instead she got an appointment for a pedicure and –I kid you not– a Sonic gift card. She loves her cherry limeaids, that woman.
And while we’re at it, now is a good time to share my approach to the gift-giving activity I hate most: buying a card. My decision process usually goes like this:
- Go to nearest store (grocery, drug, book, etc.) that sells cards
- Grab a card
- Is this card possessed of obnoxious prose cobbled together by some drone working in Cube 11-R of the relevant greeting card company? If “NO” then return to Step #2. If “YES” then proceed to the next step below.
- STOP LOOKING AT CARDS IMMEDIATELY.
- Buy card and go home.
This system always results in tasteful cards with only a brief, on target message inside and a minimum of time lost. I don’t understand people who spend more than 40 seconds shopping for cards.
And speaking of Mother’s Day, my own mom is here visiting for the rest of the week, which is great fun. Since she can play with Sam now. Expect more about this next week.
Mandy is doing great, as always. She’s grabbing stuff pretty regularly now, and has discovered the ten delightful digits at the end of her feet. Sometimes she gets pissed that she can’t detach them, but on the whole she continues to be a strangely good baby. She also rolled over from her stomach to her back the other day, which brought me back to the days of babyproofing and watching as my child ripped safety gates out of the drywall by their anchors. Good times.