February 7, 2014
By Ekta R. Garg
Enjoy these Spurts from the last two weeks, readers!
My five-year-old’s precocity continues to entertain and amaze me. Sometimes she manages to come up with the funniest, most earnest statements at the most apropos times.
One day as we drove home from school, I asked the kids about their day. Five tends to open up more when her big sister is in the car, so sometimes it’s better for me to wait until Seven gets settled before asking questions. On this particular day, Seven expressed her mild frustration with something in school.
Five, ever the cheerleader for her big sister, said, “You have to persevere, Di-Di!”
Okay, seriously, people, where is she getting this stuff from??
On another afternoon Five sat in our room patiently waiting for me to find something for her to watch on TV. Her sister was doing her homework, so Five had escaped to the comfortable bed in our room. As I flipped channels, we heard a snippet mentioning the Olympics in Sochi.
“What’s Sochi?” she asked, trying to get her mouth around the unfamiliar word.
“It’s a city in Russia,” I said. “It’s where they’re holding the Olympics this year.”
“Can we go to the Olympics?”
“Maybe we can go see them one day,” I said.
Her face brightened up. After watching the Summer Games two years ago when her sister became quite the expert at judging the high dive, she’s well versed in the sheer grit and hard work these athletes endure to get there.
“You mean see it live with real people?” she asked.
“So we’re going to go to Russia?” she asked.
Clearly I had not spoken in plain enough words, and (despite her love of geography) my child has no idea how far Russia is from Illinois. Or how much it would cost to get there. And then get in to any of the events.
“No, we’re not going to Russia, but maybe we’ll see the Olympics in person one day,” I said vaguely. I found her show for her, and she turned her attention to the TV. I wonder if it would be cheaper to find a way to get one of the kids into the Olympics.
Even though we don’t have any attachment whatsoever to football in our house (I know, get over it,) when we got an invitation to a friend’s house for the big game we went anyway. These friends have a daughter who goes to school with Five, and the girls are self-declared “BFFs.”
When we walked in to their home, it took Five and Seven all of about three minutes to feel comfortable. Five’s BFF, S., greeted us at the door with her parents and then entreated both my daughters to “Come on!” as only little kids can. The kids took off, and I didn’t see them until dinner time. After dinner they ran off again, only to materialize when dessert was served an hour later. They inhaled their desserts and raced away.
Because it was a Sunday, and therefore a school night, we left our friends’ home around 8:15. The majority of the game was over anyway; the Broncos had taken the majority of their beating by that point, and the play didn’t really inspire us to linger. Our friends live, literally, 1.5 miles away (we checked with the GPS on this one) so it didn’t take us long to get home. As the girls got ready for bed, I asked Five, “Did you have fun playing with S., [Five]?”
“Of course I did,” she said immediately. “Honestly, why wouldn’t I?”
Honestly, why wouldn’t she indeed?
Yesterday morning I helped Five in the shower before school, and as we finished up and I opened the shower curtain she asked, “Mamma, what does clutch mean?”
Because I had her towel in my hand, I demonstrated the verb right away.
“It also means a little purse,” I added. “You know, those little things the movie stars carry.”
I’m not sure what happened next, but something about my explanation just tickled her to no end. She started laughing so hard that she had tears coming out of her eyes, and she bent half over as I dried her off and wrapped the towel around her.
“The movie stars?” she asked, laughing. “So they would say, ‘Oh, can someone bring me my makeup?’ ‘Can someone take out my lipstick and give it to me?’”
And as is my daughter’s nature, once she finds something amusing she starts adding to it and making jokes that only she can get. She keeps laughing and joking, carrying on a conversation suited for her age. In other words, a lot of crazy stuff. Eventually I start laughing just because she seems to enjoy herself so much.
I guess I should only worry if I start understanding some of those random thoughts that make her laugh.