Cute kid stories: February 2007 Archives

My husband bought Sam some CD-ROM games with Clifford the Big Red Dog. Some time, in another blog, I'll get into whether I think my child should get help learning to read and do math from the computer.

But on Saturday, I was just trying to get the Clifford games installed and ready to go. Of course, because I really wanted to use the CD-ROM for the first time in, um, ever, it didn't work. Anytime I stuffed Clifford in, my computer shut off, then tried in vain to restart itself.

Sam, being Sam, was not very patient as I tried to fix the problem (and tried not to use any words I don't want her repeating). After about 10 minutes of her pestering, I told her to go get some toys and play near me in the room while I worked.

To my surprise, she actually did. After a few minutes, though, she wandered back over to me.

Sam: "Mommy, are you my conscience?"

Me (completely caught off guard): "I'm sorry, what??"

Sam: "I sayed, are you my conscience?"

Then I realized she was quoting a line from "Finding Nemo," when Dory and Marlin are in the pitch-black cavern trying to find the mask, and Dory doesn't recognize Marlin's voice when he talks to her.

Me (cracking up): "Well, yeah, I guess I am. At least until you're 18." I squeezed her shoulders and smooched her head. "Are you my conscience?"

Sam: "Yup."

And then I realized that she really is, in a way. Since I've become a mom, I've made a lot of decisions differently because of how the outcomes could affect my Sammy. A friend once told me, "Once you have kids, your life isn't yours to throw away anymore."

What kinds of decisions have you made differently since you became a parent? Do you find your spouse feels the same way?

Sam had her pneumonia re-check at the doctor today, and she got a clean bill of health, thank goodness.

Then, I had a conversation with her pediatrician that led to his giving me a packet of information about high-fiber diets. So that Sam will still speak to me when she's a teenager, I'm not going to give you specifics on why I had to have this conversation.

After the visit, I was reading through the info, which includes sample menus. To my surprise, here's part of one suggestion for dinner:

2-3 oz. baked children

No, that's not my typo. Yep, you read it right.

Here's the kicker: Much like baked chicken, baked children apparently provide no dietary fiber whatsoever.

At least the packet doesn't recommend serving baked children with fava beans and a nice chianti ...

When Sam was about a year old, we discovered that, within minutes of entering a room, she could have it annihilated.

Toys strewn. Magazines and papers ripped down. Shredded tissues yanked from boxes. Knick-knacks teetering on their sides. Framed photos with wet Sammy kiss marks on the glass.

We called it a Samzilla attack.

Since she's 3, Sam's obsessed with monsters. Whether we're playing with stuffed animals, dolls in the dollhouse or her pirate puppets, a monster always makes an appearance. It growls, it roars, it makes the little toys scream "AAAAAAAAAA" in high-pitched voices and run, only to be snagged by the monster.

For a long time, one of the toys -- usually a bear -- played the monster role. Sometimes, the monster was imaginary, and I had to keep asking where it was so I knew which way to make my pink puppy or purple monkey run.

Now, Sam's always the monster. She growls, she roars, she makes the little toys -- and her mommy and daddy -- scream in high-pitched voices and run. And you never know when the Sammy monster will appear. Sometimes when she's pretending she's a dog or a cat or a horse, suddenly she'll bite my pants leg. Sometimes, when we're playing hide-and-seek, I'll find a teeth-gnashing Sammy monster lurking in the shadows.

Today, she came walking heavy-footed up the stairs, so I figured the Sammy monster was on the loose. As she opened the bedroom door, I started my fake scream.

Me: "AAAAAAA! There's a monster, there's a monster!"

Sam (in her I'm-hurt voice): "I'm not a monster. I'm just Sammy."

Me: "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were a Sammy monster."

Sam: "Don't be scared. You don't have to be afraid to the monster." (she always words it that way). "Here, it's OK. Look, I can even give you a hug."

About 30 seconds later, she followed me into the next room. When I asked what she was up to, she whispered, "I be the monster now."

I had to smile as I screamed and trotted from the room. My Samzilla is never gone for long.

What kinds of imaginary games do your kids play? How do you deal with fears of monsters or ghosts?

As the pneumonia subsided -- and we got over the meningitis scare -- last week, my sweet little Sammy's personality started to re-emerge. Here's a sampling of what she said to me and her Nana, who came to stay with us while Sam was sick.

Last Sunday
Sam (practically giving off steam because her fever was so high): "Mommy, I'm sorry I coughed on your bed."

Me (still stripping off sheets and pillowcases after she threw up on them): "It's OK, Sammy. I know you don't feel good."

Sam: "It was an accident. I just coughed like Jackie." (She then did a spot-on impression of our cat, Jack, puking on the rug.)

Wednesday
Sam (crying because she still didn't feel good): "Don't go to work, Mommy. Just hold me."

Me (feeling like the worst mother in the history of the world): "Awwww, honey, I'd love to stay with you tonight, but I can't. Here, I'll hold you for one minute, and it will be the best minute of the day, OK?"

Sam (about 30 seconds later, after sitting on my lap and hugging me): "Thanks, Mommy. You can go to work now."

Thursday
Sam (as I'm leaving to go to work): "Bye Mommy!"

Me: "Bye Sammy! You be a good girl for Nana."

Sam (in her best grown-up voice): "And don't forget -- if you have to pee-pee or poopy, just go use da potty while you're at work, OK?"

Friday
Sam (to Nana and me, in her room): "I'm gonna go get us some teddy bears from downstairs, OK?"

Me: "OK. We'll wait for you."

Sam (an earnest look on her face): "Just stay here, all right, ladies? I'll be right back."

This Sunday
Sam (as Nana and I were getting back into the car after going into the station to buy drinks and pump gas, respectively): "How could you two guys do that to me?"

Me (surprised): "Do what to you?"

Sam: "You both leaved me."

Me: "Sam, I was right outside the window the whole time! I even poked my head in and talked to you!"

Sam: "Just don't do that again, OK?"