September 25, 2015
By Ekta R. Garg
Enjoy these Spurts from the last two weeks, readers!
Nine and Seven like to do a lot of improv with one another, which then morphs into games. They play pretend quite a bit, even now, and as they play pretend they also narrate their play. So it sounds something like this:
First kid: “Pretend we were in Baby Land, and all the babies were fashion babies.”
Second kid: “And they were trying to design awesome clothes.”
First kid: “And Big Baby was making the best dress of all.”
Second kid: “And Little Baby wanted to copy her design.”
In fact, if you listen to them closely, you’ll hear more narration than actual play. It’s interesting, because some kids just play. They don’t outline their pretending. Mine like to outline and then close caption what they’re doing.
At some point they do venture into the play part, and that’s when the fun really begins.
During one of the games, the girls’ characters were involved in fashion. They were narrating and acting their way through a game about fashion. This comes in part from a group Nine has started at school with some friends. The group is dedicated to designing couture clothes.
Yes, they actually use the word “couture.”
In any case, at one point in their game, Nine goes all Valley Girl and says, “So you know, like, that fine line between stylish and boredom? She totally crossed it.”
There’s a fine line between stylish and boredom? And a person can cross it? Wow.
One day as we drove home from art class, Seven spent a little bit of time watching the traffic.
“Mamma,” she asked, “are motorcycles more expensive than cars?”
I watched one ride past us. “I don’t think so; I’m not sure.”
“When I grow up, I’m going to get a motorcycle,” Seven said.
“Because they’re cool, and they go fast.”
Oh, boy. If we’d been living in the time of James Dean, I bet Seven would give him a run for his money.
Every generation has its term for something that’s cool. Far out; rad; totally gnarly. My older child has brought home her generation’s term.
Two weeks ago Seven’s school held the back-to-school picnic. When I was ready to leave, I tracked the girls down outside the bounce house. Because they were already standing in line, I decided to let them go ahead and take their turns. I had to wait almost 30 minutes, but they finally got to jump to their hearts’ content.
Shortly after as we made our way through the door and across the lobby of the school, Nine said, “That was historically awesome.”
This past Sunday I took Nine to her play rehearsal. Normally I drive my Honda Odyssey, and the seats in the back of the van let the girls get a good view of the world outside. On this day, though, I drove my husband’s Civic. Of course, the vantage point from the back of a four-door sedan looks different.
As we pulled into a parking spot, Nine asked, “Mamma, when can I sit in the front seat?”
I had an answer ready. “You’re not…”
I couldn’t finish the thought of her being too short. I’m 5’2.5”. When Nine comes to me for a hug, I can rest my chin on the top of her head. And doing so tips my chin up just a little.
She’s a smart kid. If I’m tall enough to sit in the front, it would probably only take her a few minutes to ask why she can’t.
“You’re not old enough,” I finished lamely.
“How old do I have to be?” she asked.
“Um…thirty,” I said. “No, wait, thirty-five.”
She giggled. On Sunday it was, “When can I sit in the front seat?” The next time I turn around, it’ll be, “When can I drive?”
I’m not sure I’m ready for either.