Why is he crying?

Selah moved between the living room and bedroom yesterday evening. She'd spend a few minutes coloring next to her Dad who was reading the paper, then run around the corner to check on me and baby brother. I was watching the movie Something's Gotta Give with Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson.

Selah skipped in, plopped on the bed, settled back with her hands behind her head and watched the screen quietly. It was the scene where Jack Nicholson's character thought he'd lost his soul mate (Diane Keaton) to a much younger, much more attractive man (Keanu Reeves). Jack was standing on a bridge overlooking the Seine in the drizzle of a frosty Paris night. He began to cry.

"Why is he crying?" Selah asked.

"He's sad," I answered.

"Why?" she continued. "Because he misses his mommy and daddy?" Her voice was serious and her face somber.

"Maybe," I said casually. "He's okay. Don't worry."

What do you say about lost love and heart ache to a two year old? I never, ever want her to know how it feels.

The Sea Monster

It was after 6 p.m. and Selah and I were still in our pajamas from the previous night's rowdy sleep. We had brushed our teeth and cleaned our faces, but getting dressed just seemed less and less important as the lazy day dragged on. We had spent much of it lounging in our big, low, piled-high-with-pillows bed watching Little Bear, playing games and loving on baby brother.

What could be better to complement such a comfortable day than warm cookies. So, I moved to the kitchen to whip up a batch of white chocolate walnut cookies -- ooey and gooey and just right.

Judah slept peacefully in his Papasan chair securely placed on the counter next to my work space. Selah ran in and out of her play room adjacent to the kitchen.

The sky was just past dark with the yellow glow of city living casting shadows against the walls of the courtyard outside the sliding doors in the play room. The kitchen lights softly illuminated a slice of Selah's play place leaving the edges and corners of the room darkened.

The peaceful sounds of Selah's random play were shaken by her shriek as she ran from the room.

"It's a sea monster, " she hollered. Then, just as she crossed the threshold and before I could respond, she spun around, stepped back into the room and looked through the sliding glass panes.

"Oh, no wait, " she piped. "It's just me." Her fear turned to calm as she realized the image of the sea monster she thought she saw in the reflection from the doors was actually her.

***Thanks to a recent episode of Little Bear, Selah is a bit frightened of sea monsters. Thank you, Little Bear.

Two In One Day

I was talking to my Mom on the phone. And, like every time I get on the phone, Selah's radar went off. You know, the one that alerts her to get loud and adamant in her pleas to me for something so very important. She continued to nag when I asked for her silence and patience. Then she popped off with some disrespectful quip.

"I've got to go, Mom," I said. "I've got to take care of this."

Before I could finish the sentence and hang up the phone, Selah skittered down the hall looking back over her shoulder.

"No, no," she hollered. "Don't you take care of me!"

That evening, Selah, Judah and I were soaking in a wonderful, steamy whirlpool bath. She had been using her new cool kiwi-berry foam soap to lather up her body and mine. Nothing so relaxing as being bathed by tiny, hurried hands! Right.

I noticed a small bump on my leg that looked like a bug bite. I reached down to touch it. And since Selah has inherited the monkey grooming trait from me (Yeah!), she beat me to it.

"Don't worry, Momma, " she said as she pinched my skin. "I'll squeeze it down for you!" Great, now I'm in contest for stuff to squeeze. Watch out, Daddy!

(My apologies to those of you who are squeamish about squeezing, mashing, popping and plucking!)

The Girl Strikes Again...And Again...And Again

During a visit to Grandma and Papaw's place this week, Papaw got an earful from Selah. Here's what he said she said:

Selah hit me with some good ones during her visit this week.

She and I were in the study, where I was sorting out some receipts, old ones for discarding in this pile, new ones for keeping in that one. She watched patiently for approximately three nanoseconds, then she grabbed one pile and tossed the receipts into disarray. "Don't do that, you boot boggler!" I scolded. "I am NOT a boot boggler," she said, emphasizing the not. "You're not?" I said. "Well, then what are you?" "I am a kumquat," she said, using Papaw's favorite designation of a scatterbrain.

Later, we were in the living room where, unaccountably, I was wearing a fedora. She liked that style and badgered Grandma for a hat. Grandma promptly gave her one of mine. "Grandma!" I protested. "That's one of my best hats. She always gets the good stuff." "Yes, I do always get the good stuff," she replied agreeably.

While you got ready to leave Thursday morning, I held Judah, rocking him in the recliner. She came over and kissed him on the cheek. "Who is that?" I asked. "My baby brother," she said. "What's his name?" I asked. "Judah," she said. "That's a fine name," I said. "Who named him?" "I named him," she said. "Did mama help?" I asked. "She helped a little bit," she said.

Little Disciplinarian

Selah may not always readily respond to discipline, but she sure knows how to dish it out!

Last night, I was sitting in bed nursing Judah. Selah was close by ready to help.

"Get your babies and feed them while Momma feeds baby Judah, " I said.

"Okay," she responded and gathered up two of her dolls. She climbed into bed beside me and started talking to her babies.

"No means no," she said to the less lucky one. "I told you not to do it. Now, you sit here until I tell you."

Yikes. The first phrase belongs to James, but I have to claim the second.

Then this morning, James came home from his morning coffee and newspaper retreat at Starbucks. He had made a quick stop at an estate sale in a beautiful old home overlooking White Rock Lake. He brought with him a glossy sales postcard of the property. I only caught a quick, dream-like gaze before Selah wrenched it from my hands. She immediately began twisting it into a messy cylinder.

"What are you doing with that?" I asked.

"I'm turning it into a spanking stick," she said without missing a beat.

Whoa, kid. Let us get this straight. We only use rolled up newspaper to swat the dogs!

Matching

Although Selah hasn't yet mastered all her colors, she has the concept of color matching down really well.

Yesterday as I sleepily scooped my beloved hazelnut decaf coffee from its bag into the coffee maker, she sidled up and thrust a green crayon next to the package.

"See, it matches," she declared.

"You are right," I responded. "You are so smart." Big smile and off she went.

She's done this many times, comparing her crayons or Playdoh with things like the carpet, items of clothing and various wall colors.

Last night, she made one particularly astute comparison. I was holding Judah on my shoulder, gently patting his back and pleading him for a 'burp-it'. Selah drew close to admire her baby brother, kissed his head and stroked his cheek. She moved her gaze to my face and reached with her other hand for my cheek.

"Look, Momma," she said. "It matches. Baby Judah's cheek matches your cheek, Momma."

I wanted to ask if she'd include texture and 'kissability' in her assessment, but settled for the acknowledgment of a little rosy glow. What a coup for this late thirty-something, make-up free mommy!