After learning I have diabetes, a woman I recently met asked me how my pregnancies were. She had gestational diabetes, so she said she was curious, which I totally understand. So I kindly said, “Actually, both of my kids are adopted.”
I always hesitate.
Not because I’m ashamed. Truthfully, I’d tell anyone who wants to listen. I love their stories. I love how God heard the desires of my heart and led us to have a family in a way that has been better than I could have ever imagined.
But I know it catches people off guard.
After getting dressed for the day, Cate said, “Cool shoes, Mommy.”
Cool is her new description of many things. So I thanked her and went on with what I was doing. I didn’t get very far before I hear her critique of my outfit continue.
“Why you wearin’ that shirt?”
Um. Several answers go through my head. Because I like it. Because it’s nice outside and it seemed to be a good day to wear it. Just because.
But instead I answered her question with a question, something I hate other people to do. “Do you not like it?”
“No,” she said simply.
Cate, Ben and I were all playing separately in the playroom [appropriate, huh?] yesterday when I decided Ben was ready for a nap. So I got up from my scrapbooking table and told Cate I’d be right back, leaving her to her own crafts.
When I returned and told her we’d need to start cleaning up so she could take her nap, I noticed some strands of her hair on the floor.
“Is this your hair?”
She confirmed, and then went back to coloring her picture of Diego.
“Who cut it?”I wasn’t done with the conversation.
“Me.” Exactly what I was afraid of.
“And why did you cut your hair?” I try not to ask my 3 1/2-year-old why because it’s not really a good information-gathering question for that age, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Because it was in my eyes.”
Lovely. So I have a problem-solver who takes matters into her own hands. And I actually trusted her with scissors. I always put them up when her friends come over to play, but I thought she played well with them.
And one could argue she is resourceful. But I can’t count the number of times I’ve said, “Only cut your paper.” I’ve stopped saying that. I guess I’ll begin again, when her personal scissor ban is over.
Thankfully, she only snipped a few strands the side of her head. It looks like her bangs extend way too far over. And when her hair is down, it’s hard to notice.
Of course, I notice, though. That’s what moms do.
Ben received his first birthday present in the mail. His first meaning, the first one. But, yes, it’s for his first birthday. My dad sent it. My dad is a good gift giver to my kids, and I’m always surprised too.
Anyway, he got a Lightning McQueen Power Wheel that his sister is really excited about. I was adding the steering wheel and charging the battery [Hooray for minimal assembly!] this afternoon because, really, who wants the box with the new toy just sitting there teasing everyone. Certainly not Cate.
So she was sitting in it, even though I explained it would be tomorrow after preschool when the battery would be ready [18 hours, really?]. Ben wanted in, and she told him she was riding in it. I suggest she give him a turn to sit in the toddler automobile that had no juice, and she said, “Ben needs to share.”
Well, yes. That is one part of sharing.
But the other side is you, my oldest child, need to share with Ben. After all, it is his birthday present.
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