This and That

Olivia and I have this game we play. It started a few months ago.

Every time she’d ask me to carry her, I’d ask her, “What am I, a taxicab?”

She’d giggle and say no and this would progress to me asking if I was a school bus, an airplane, a pack mule, etc. She loved this game and if I ever forgot, she’d remind me whenever I picked her up.

Recently, I’ve changed my question.

These days, when she asks to be carried, I reply with, “What are you, two years old?”

Usually, she laughs and says no, she’s five!

The other night, as I picked her up to carry her upstairs to get pajamas, I asked the question.

This time, she put her head on my shoulder and said wearily, “I’m five, but I’m very, very tired.”

I love this response so much. She wasn’t apologizing for wanting to be carried, just explaining that sometimes, even a five year old needs a little lift.

Now the summer break is here, we’re instituting Daddy Day again. This gives my mom a bit of a break from childcare and it gives Tom and the girls a chance to just hang every Monday.

Alyssa’s not amused by this decision but since we didn’t ask her opinion, no one is bothered by her dissention. The only reason she is annoyed by this is because it means that on Mondays she can’t spend the day in Gram’s pool. Poor, deprived child.

Speaking of Alyssa, she wants to dye her hair black. In case anyone has forgotten, she’s nine. NINE years old. And she wants to dye her hair black.

I’m all about self-expression and giving kids a bit of space to be themselves, but black?

I told her we’d think about it and see if we can find something very, very temporary. I won’t let her start school in the fall with black hair. That is not the impression we want to make on her fourth grade teacher.

But honestly? It’s just hair. And I think things like this are pretty harmless. Right now, she has red bangs and the ends of some of her hair are red. Not red as in auburn or strawberry blond. Not a red that would occur naturally. No, this is fire engine red. And it’s not a big deal.

I’m hoping that by being open to things like this, to keeping her talking to me and reminding her that she can come to me about anything, that in the years to come, she’ll continue to talk to me about things like black hair, friends, boys and all the things that come with those things. Even the scary things like drugs, alcohol, and yes…sex. I want her to know she can talk to me. I want her to know that she can’t freak me out. So black hair? We’ll see. We’ll keep talking about it.