I’m losing my mind, but Rose is finding hers

“Mummy, do you remember the blue one? The one I threw in the toilet?”

“Sure, Rose, I remember the blue toothbrush you threw in the toilet.”

“That was AAAAAGES ago.”

“Yep, probably six months ago.”

Rose has a scary memory. “Scary” in that she remembers a lot of inconsequential things I only make a passing note of. “Scarier” when it’s stuff that I’d rather she forgets, such as occasionally telling people, “Grandad gave me a glass of wine!”*. Her carers at school have mentioned it. A few weeks ago we were walking up the road and Rose said, “I want an erigeron!” At this point I assumed that she was making up a word. Maybe erigerons were something to do with the world of logidolls and longyongs? Or related to “cutrose”, the imaginary drink that Rose is always talking about. Rose looked annoyed and pointed at some daisies. Erigerons are plants? It turns out that Granny Anne had taught her that name at her last visit, before Christmas.

I guess I’m not really sure of how memories are formed at her age. I’ve been working under the vague assumption that because children can’t usually permanently remember stuff that happens before the age of about 4 or 5 surely she wouldn’t remember stuff that happened 6 months or a year ago. Or maybe it’s just that some seemingly innocuous things to us are more memorable to her because it’s her first time? Or perhaps said innocuous moments are connected to some more powerful important experience of feeling something for the first time? Maybe she was remembering Daddy and Mummy being mad at her about the toothbrush, or the fact that she couldn’t brush her teeth for about a week because we kept forgetting to buy a new toothbrush at the shops?

Chris had a watertight memory before the age of 26. He can still remember movies we went to see back in the mid-90s**, what I was wearing and who we went with. He remembers if I fell asleep and major characters’ names. This is all a kind of magic to me, having always had an elusive grasp on the finer details. I’m good at remembering which ones of my friends hated each other in high school but terrible at remembering who was the engineer on the 3rd Who album (even though I’ve read Keith Moon’s biography, like, six times!).

Interestingly, and frustratingly for us, this memory of hers is never in play when it comes to useful things such as remembering to take her favourite toy when we go to day care. Also, she still continues to ask the same questions every day, even when the answer has. never. changed.

“Mummy, can I have a bit more toothpaste?”

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* Honestly, I can’t believe that I haven’t told this story yet. I hope you forgive me for telling it now, Dad. One night before we moved and all our stuff was packed up we were eating dinner and drinking out of plastic cups. Chris was drinking some wine in a plastic cup. He got up to do some more packing and Dad and I stayed at the table eating and talking. I was feeding Tess and Dad was managing Rose. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dad pick up a plastic cup and give it to Rose. She took a sip, grimaced, and then drank the glass. Off somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. I stood up! I realised what had just happened! I’m sure you can picture what happened next: A lot of rushing about, a bit of shouting and hand-wringing, and there might’ve been a cold bath. Rose was totally fine.

**He even corrected me that it was “mid-9os”, not “early-90s” as I originally had.

A confusion over envelopes

When I went to pick Rose up from day care this afternoon she greeted me with a, “Mummy, look what I made!” and rushed off to retrieve two big carefully decorated envelopes with clear windows showing some snatches of paintings and drawings in each.

“One’s for you, and one’s for Daddy!”  she said. “Oh Rose, they look beautiful! Thanks so much.”

Just then Imogen came over. “That’s mine!” she said, pointing to one of the envelopes.

“Really, honey? Which one’s yours?”

“That one,” pointing at the other one.

“No, it’s mine!” said Rose, grabbing both.

Dear God. How do I get out of this confusing toddler conversation? In stereo.

“This one? But Imogen says it’s hers.”

“No, it’s mine.”

“What about this one, could this one be yours and that one Imogen’s?”

“Yes, THAT one,” gesturing at the other.

“Okay, girls, I’m going to ask A_______ (one of the carers).

“A________…. I’m wondering if you can help me out here (Please! Please! Please!) Which one of these is Rose’s?”

“I don’t know… That one?” she said, pointing uncertainly at one of the envelopes. Clearly guessing. “Rose is only being fussy because she’s a perfectionist. PER-FEC-TION-IST!!!!”  The word “perfectionist” was said as if it was she’d noticed it more than once. I get the feeling that A_____ doesn’t notice much. She has the air of a narcoleptic between naps.

“Okay. Well, okay. Uhh, Imogen – how about you take this one home, and Rose takes this one?” I asked, hopefully.

Both girls replied, “okay!” rather cheerfully. Ah, how the summer tempest of toddler emotions can blow through so quickly. I felt relieved to have solved the crisis amicably.

As we were leaving Rose leaned over to me and said, “Mummy, I have the wrong one.”

Time for a Tess update

Things have been up and down with Tess lately. She’s been slowly getting more and more settled at day care, but she had a rough day on Monday. Her usual favourite carers weren’t there, and she refused to take a bottle or sleep much. She’d only napped for abot 25 minutes when I got there at 3.45pm, so she was tired. And upset. We’ve learned to bring the stroller in the car on childcare days because if you walk home with Tess she gets to have a recharge nap on the way home, and is consequently more happy in the evenings and easier to get to sleep at night.

She’s had a cold all week, an annoying snotty-nose affair, which has kept her pretty miserable. Especially at night, I think the nasal stuffiness has been making her feel miserable. One night, I think it was Tuesday, she woke up at 9.30pm and wouldn’t go back to sleep until 2.30am. Chris and I were massively grumpy, but Tess just kept on smiling and giggling. She finally got to sleep. Fortunately the nights since then have been calm and peaceful, back to sleep 12-hours with no interruption. This seems to be the way with Tess. She’s generally pretty good at sleeping these days but every few months you have a really bad night.

We’ve also worked out that she likes having her bedroom door open. It’s counter-intuitive. I thought it would keep her awake hearing more noise, but she seems to like it.

Still no classic walking, although she’s getting there. She cruises a lot, walking along the edges of furniture and walls. She loves using Rose’s little trolley for toddling about. She’ll also walk holding your hand. It might be a lack of confidence, or perhaps a lack of balance during her patching hours. Either way, I’m not worried in the slightest. With Rose I got terribly nervous anytime she wasn’t on track with her developmental schedule. With Tess I’m so much more relaxed. I know she’s going to walk. She’ll just do it in her own time, and that’s okay with us.

We thought she’d said her first word a few months ago (“bubba”) but she hasn’t really repeated it, so it must’ve been a fluke. She repeats a lot of words (it’s so cute hearing her say, “Tssssssssssssss” as as approximation of Tess) but she doesn’t really offer the words up sponatenously, so not really talking. However, yesterday she knocked her head on the coffee table and said, “bonk!” So maybe that’s her first word? It would certainly be fitting. She LOVES saying “bonk”!

Gunboat diplomacy

At Rose’s day care they encourage the children to deal with conflict by talking about it. In particular they get the kids to say, “Stop it! I don’t like it!” when someone does something they don’t like. The kids also put their hand out in the universal sign for “stop”, like police officers directing traffic.

To be honest, it’s a bit annoying. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been trying to get Rose to do some basic thing such as getting into the stroller and she’s protesting the whole way “Stop, I don’t LIKE IT!”  Today she did the I-don’t-like-it spiel when I was putting sunscreen on her. I feel like shouting, “I DON’T LIKE IT EITHER!!!”

Today Rose and her friend Phoebe were playing with Rose’s ball at the park. Phoebe snatched the ball and Rose shouted, “Stop it! I don’t like it!” with the outstretched hand. To which, Phoebe responded with “Stop it! I don’t like it!” back at Rose. Both continued for a good two minutes, shouting out the same thing and shoving their outstretched hands in each others faces. Min and I looked on, laughing.

Conversations about Death

Yesterday, while reading bedtime stories. Rose started crying.

Me: Rose, what are you upset about?

Rose: Because Nana Rita died.

Me: Yes, mummy is upset that Nana Rita died too.

Rose: But she’ll come back again soon.

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Today, after work and day care.

Rose: Mummy, what is “die”?

Me: It means Nana Rita is gone, she’s no longer with us. *grasping around for the right words* She’s happy now.

Rose: This isn’t the time for talking, Mummy! *I looked at her quizzically* It’s time for The Polar Express!