Bedtime Reading

I’m beginning to wonder about this child of mine.*

She likes, as I’ve mentioned, playing with books, and tonight she gathered up some grown-up books to read to herself.

One of them is called The Happiest Toddler on the Block.

The other was The Duchess of Malfi.

Let me tell you that The Duchess of Malfi is not written by Dr. Seuss.**

It’s a nasty little play, and Margaret found it depressing.

So I read her We’re Going on a Bear Hunt and put her to bed.  I only just realized that that may have been upsetting, since I call her “Bear.”  Oh dear.

*I’m also beginning to wonder about me, because who leaves unsuitable books lying around?

**I’m now sort of morbidly fascinated by the thought of a Dr. Seuss version, but that’s probably best left alone.

Kissyface

Margaret has been learning to give kisses.  Sometimes they work as kisses, with proper pucker and smack action.  Sometimes one just gets a gaping, slobbery baby maw rubbed on one’s cheek.  So it’s a bit hit or miss, but it’s awfully cute.  And if you make kissing noises at her, she will scrunch her face up and try to make the noises back.

Of course, this is what you get when you make a goldfish face at her.

I’ll take either.

The Master Of Her Fate*

Margaret has, of late, been climbing in and out of a truly hideous, but conveniently squat and easily cleanable chair that we have brought down from the deep recesses of the upstairs precisely because of its child-friendliness.

It is very cute.

She doesn’t stay in the chair for too long, but she clearly enjoys the sensation of being in a chair that she got into herself and can get out of whenever she pleases.

Anyway, this morning, I got some video of her busy life.

You notice that at the end, she had to take a call on her wooden ring.  It’s always something, you know?

*At least briefly, and as it pertained to chair-sitting this morning.  Not that big, but a step in the right direction.

Aerial Views

Margaret has an interesting relationship to books.  She loves them – the tactile sensation of holding a book, turning its pages, carrying it around is one of her favorites.  And she’s always bringing books to people, handing them over, and settling down in a lap.

You would think that she wanted you to read the book to her.

And, while that is a reasonable hypothesis, it’s dead wrong.

What she wants is for you to start reading to her, which allows her, after a page or two, to slam the book shut on your fingers, take it back, and walk off with it.

But sometimes she will read next to someone else, if said someone else is very careful not to interrupt her. 

I Promise That I Am A Very Good Mother

Today, it may appear not so much.  First, I let Margaret play with a propane tank.

But she was very interested, and had a really good time dropping gravel on it.

Anyway, it’s not like I gave her matches.

I also didn’t cover the driveway in foam rubber, and Margaret once again tried to outrun her feet.

She smacked her forehead again (same place!) and scraped her cheek.  But she didn’t really cry much when she did it, and was off and running soon after.

Still, when we took her out in public afterwards, we put her shades on her so that no one would see the damage.

Pigtails!

Before anyone gets too excited (because I know that the choices Margaret makes about her coiffure are absolutely the most thrilling thing in everyone’s day) realize that said hairstyle lasted not even long enough to get a good picture.

See?  Here she is realizing that I’ve stuck 2 things in her hair.

And she’s fixed that problem.

There is a way to make her leave her one forehead ponytail* in.  One puts the ponytail in, and then, at the moment one has finished, gets an accomplice to open the dining room door so that she can make a break for it.

*Leo refers to this style as “the Bam Bam,” even though I have told him over and over and over again that it was Pebbles who sported this style.  Clearly, his Flintstones education has been sadly neglected.

Margaret-ella (Hopefully With Fewer Talking Mice)

I always had, in the back of my mind, a sense that children might be good for something.  I mean, I distinctly remember doing dishes and vacuuming and laundry and cooking at tender ages, so it seemed like a plan: have children, and then set them to clean the house.

Unfortunately, this plan has been mostly backfiring, as Margaret makes more messes than she tidies up.  She has developed a certain mania for putting things into other things, but it’s been hard to channel these urges into anything constructive.  I’m far more likely to end up with a pacifier and a block in my teaching bag than we are to have toys in the appropriate bins.

On the bright side, she seems to have taken up sweeping.

She absolutely adores playing with this half-broom that I use to sweep the snow off the car in the winter.  See how proud she is of herself?

Leo’s mom has also been helping with her training.  The other morning, when I went to pick Margaret up after class, I found that she was doing the dishes.

She’s very serious about it, and does not necessarily appreciate interruptions.

I don’t, however, think that she’s going to be up to ironing until she’s at least 2.