Yesterday was a fun day. Wednesday cowered behind teacher when Overlord came to take her home. Today, Wednesday held fast to a toy phone, similar to the one featured in Toy Story 3 and demanded to bring it to share with Bug. While I do applaud her inane want to share things with the little sister who has not started school, it was, as usual, a little bit embarrassing to think of reasons to extract Wednesday without phone from the class room without a tantrum, fight or statue-like protest. Daddy’s birthday invariably became the reason to leave. I feel sorry now because Overlord will now be faced with a chorus of ‘Happy Birthdays’ tomorrow when we drop her off and pick her up.
I don’t mind this, I think its cute. Overlord, however, will not be best pleased in the manner of Colonel Brandon when Marianne becomes partial to Willoughby. Cue scowl, stompy feet and a ratty temper. He got his birthday gift a while ago so in his view, Birthday is done. But today, after school, we three trotted off ‘doon the toon’ on a Dora style quest to pick up some stuff for him. What followed was a dropped Pretzel, a moping Wednesday, a sleeping Bug, a berry popping Wednesday, a running off Wednesday and… as always.. the demanding Wednesday.
“I want.” Is my most hated phrase in all languages. Well no, I prefer the way it’s forcibly polite in German and just so cultured sounding en francais. Wednesday “I want”-ed about two dozen things before I’d even hit the second aisle of the store and I wasn’t so much fuming as boiling over. I have a ‘hands in pockets’ rule in stores which at this point in her, admittedly, short life, Wednesday seems to enjoy flouting. I know she’s young and she should be a allowed a modicum of self-expression and curiosity but Good God… I am, right now, going to search for a book on how to raise your children the French or Swedish way. Those kids are always immaculately behaved (and dressed) and I want me a piece of that.
Wednesday began pointing out all the flaws and oddities in the customers we passed also.
“Why does she have a red nose?” While POINTING to an old lady in a motorised wheelchair.
“Mommy he did a bum burp” Of the man beside us in the queue.
“That little girl has knotty hair” At a little girl with gorgeous ringlet-style curly hair. Her mother looked at me, seemingly askance, but privately wondering why I couldn’t keep a vocal rein on my beautiful little girl.
We had picked up all our stuff when up all our stuff when Wednesday announced “I’m really really super Big BIG hungry”. Roll shoulders, exhale slowly, crack neck and walk on. This is her complaint after eating a pretzel the size of my head. We get to the far end of street, wherein no stores or cafés lie and she announces her need for the bathroom. Oh boy. Exhale again, give a stern warning to hold it in, pick up Overlord and go home, whereupon, she forgets about her urgent need, sits down to an episode of Poppy Cat and leaks.
Wow, Bridget Jones. You CANNOT complain.