November 10, 2008

Willowy Weasley


Is that tall girl my 5-year-old? Can it be? How did I produce such a willowy child? I’m not bad looking or anything but no one has ever called me willowy – picture Cybil Shepherd in her Moonlighting years with a generous dash of Mrs. Weasley and that’s me. K, however, is the first person in my family to resemble a gazelle.

K turned 5 in September and in so many ways she’s all grown up now. She’s gotten more self-sufficient, she remembers things I’ve forgotten (like where my keys are) and sometimes she’s the one to reassure me when I’m worried about something. For example, last weekend we biked down to the lake with our neighbors, K’s BFF Kaye and her mum Annette. It was a gorgeous day and the kids played for a good hour before L started getting tired. Annette offered to watch K and bring her home later. It was the first time I’d left K anywhere public with anyone besides her grandparents and she was on her own bike so I wasn’t totally sanguine about it all, even though I was looking forward to an afternoon nap myself. So I started lecturing K about all the things she should be careful of (strange men, strange women, anyone at all she doesn’t know, cars, the lake, etc.) when she calmly broke in. “Don’t worry, Mommy,” she said kindly. “I’m Kaye’s best friend now and Kaye would be sad if anything happened to me so I’m sure her Mommy will take care of me.”

Well, now. What could I say to such a well-reasoned response? I had to laugh at the idea that our neighbor would only guard our child against predators, traffic and the elements for fear of Kaye being a bit put out by the loss of her best friend, though.

In other ways she is still a very little girl. If things aren’t just so she cries bitterly and has been having a rough time of it in the morning because she believes that her socks don’t fit her perfectly enough. Or her sleeves aren’t rolled up symmetrically. Or her shoes aren’t tightened quite right. I like to call her ‘My Little German’ when she behaves like this. Of course, she doesn’t get it. Ralf also doesn’t quite see my point and wants to know what I’m implying.

Her latest bit of adult wisdom (when I praised one of L’s scribbly pictures): ‘Mommy, would you still like L's picture if she hadn’t come out of your tummy?’

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