God's House

Over the summer, Doodle attended the child development center at our parish 3 days/week from 9-2:30. She was in a class with 2's, 3's, 4's, and 5's, in a Montessori-like environment. After a while, I started noticing something. . . Doodle would occasionally tell me about Jesus. "That's Jesus!" with a nod and wide, knowing eyes, pointing, usually I think, to a crucifix. Sometimes she would say, "A Jesus. A God." ("A" or "ah" approximating "it's" or "that's" until recently.) A day or two ago, she found a reproduction of an antique print of the Last Supper. Jesus is holding up bread, in the shape of the Host, representing the institution of the Eucharist. "Who's this?" Doodle asks. "Jesus," I reply. "Yes, Jesus," she says with certainty, nodding. She then proceeds to ask about the apostles, who occupy the edges of the image, though with less interest.

This evening, we got pizza from Papa John's. The franchise we ordered from, for pick-up, was a scant block away from the priests' residence, not two blocks from the church that is the student parish for the university and community college in the area. As we were waiting 5 min. before going in to check on the pizza order, the church bells rang. Doodle perked up, eyes wide, and said, "Listen!" Then she said something through her pacifier that sounded kind of like "God." I wasn't sure, but I started telling my husband about the influence of the church preschool. Then she said again, with excitement, "God! God!" So I asked, "God?" "Yes!" As my husband turned the car around to pull alongside the pizza place, she caught sight of the church (where she and Chiclette were baptized--and me, too!--and my son in the chapel, which is also where we were married. . . so many Sacraments, so many memories!). "There it is!" she said, pointing. "God!" Why yes, yes it is! :)

Dollies, revisited

I've heard of it before, but I've never seen it. I'm not sure I entirely believed that children did it. Doodle breastfed her babydoll (named "Baby B. . .") this morning. Very seriously, very discretely, very affectionately, in a "house" (made from my cardboard cutting board) on a bed of pillows. :)

When the Babies Decide LIfe is Too Boring. . .

--The infant hits the 6 month mark and wants to nurse every 45 minutes one day after only nursing 4 or 5 times the previous few days. . .

--The baby who slept through the night since she was WEEKS old decides to compete with the toddler who has almost ALWAYS joined Momma & Daddy by crying and wanting to nurse 2 or 3 times a night(!). . .

--The toddler, who was potty training admirably and treated every store as the potential locale for an exciting adventure to the bathroom has decided that her bottom can never touch a commercial toilet again--and arches her back and cries to support this theory (having just asked to use the bathroom). . .

*sigh*

Not a Baby Anymore. . .

This evening we were taken out for dinner by my brother, who proposed that we go to Olive Garden, as he had never been, then unexpectedly treated us all! We were seated at a round table--four of us in chairs, one high chair, and one "sling" to hold a baby carseat/carrier--in what felt to me like the middle of the way. As we had had an unusual amount of attention paid to us by other patrons one of the last times we were there, I was hoping for a more out-of-the way place, and even asked the hostess pointedly if this wasn't rather a high traffic area. She didn't bite. So we got settled--Doodle and Chiclette placed together for some odd reason. We had been sitting for a little while when a party of two elderly couples passed by to be seated. I heard a grandmotherly Texas drawl say, "Hang on a minute. I want to check out this little one!" (Chiclette was closest to the side on which they passed.) So she stooped to look at Chiclette and murmured some words about how cute she was while my husband & I smiled obligingly. Looking across the table, I caught sight of Doodle's face. Now she is a prettier-than-average toddler, though I say this with not a little maternal bias. She is frequently admired alongside Chiclette--if not before Chiclette!--when people trouble to admire either of them at all. So there was my pretty Doodle, looking at her sister, and looking at the woman, with a little shy smile and shining, smiling eyes. The woman made a parting remark to me about the baby being beautiful, then turned and walked away. Doodle's expectant eyes seemed to question, and then darken as her little spirit was let down after expecting a friendly word to be turned to her. I know it's a little thing, really. I don't want her to expect always to receive attention, by any means. But it was sad to see this realization in her sweet face--that she was not noticed. At all. A small hurt--but not small compared to her stature and her experience of the world. And it broke my heart. Then the breadsticks came.

Life with a Toddler

This evening, my husband said to me,

Should I turn this [tape] off, wander back [to our bedroom] with her [to put her to bed]--and fall asleep so she can play bongos on my nose or something?

And I laughed until tears ran down my cheeks.