Colette plays her first ever April Fool's joke -- on her father

I decided yesterday that Colette needs to work on her sense of timing.

Because Katie was ill yesterday evening, I "cooked" dinner for the kids. Translation: I took them to Chick-fil-A. Once the girls had settled down to eat their kids' meals, Colette opened her bag and showed me inside. She said, "Look, dad. They didn't give me any chicken!" Sure enough, the bag held only french fries and a toy. So I went up to the counter and got her the chicken nuggets that the employees had left out of her meal.

After Colette polished off the box of chicken nuggets I had gotten for her, she pulled a second box out from under the table, held it up to my face, and shouted, "April Fools!"

While I had been distracted by the chaos involved in getting three little girls their food, the darn kid had pulled the original box of chicken out of her sack and put it on her lap out of sight.

 So back up to the counter I went to pay for the extra chicken nuggets. When I returned to the table, I told Colette that she would have to reimburse me the $2.87 her joke had cost me. The young lady, who was already crying, wailed even louder. Her sisters, meanwhile, explained to her that if she *must* play a joke on someone, she should let them know it's a joke before it goes too far and costs the victim money.

So Colette played her first ever April Fool's joke on the wrong day, and waited too long to reveal that it was a prank. Timing, dear child, it's all about the timing.

Epilogue: Colette deeply regretted her actions. She said she didn't have enough money to pay me back. I told her not to worry about that yet, we'd work things out. With tears rolling down her cheeks, she said over and over that she was a bad person because she had made a mistake. I picked her up, set her on my lap, wrapped my arms around her, and hugged her tightly. I assured her that she is not a bad person. I told her that everyone makes mistakes, it's part of being human. She argued that there are lots of people who don't make any mistakes. I reminded her that there has only ever been one perfect person to walk the earth. The rest of us mess up all too frequently. And I kept trying to explain that one mistake does not a bad person make. That didn't really seem to register with her, so I just hugged her and told her over and over again that she is a great kid, that I love her, that she is my special little girl, and that everything would be okay.

I felt so bad for that well-meaning, pure-hearted, innocent little soul!

Savannah Saves the Day: An Easter Egg Hunt Story

Have I ever told you that Savannah is a real sweetheart?

We had an Easter egg hunt in our yard over the weekend. At the appointed hour, three girls raced out the front door in a mad dash to collect as many candy-filled eggs as possible. As they competed for the same eggs, Leila and Colette collided on the patio. The bigger kid came out of the fray with the loot safely tucked in her basket and raced into the backyard in search of more. In contrast, Colette burst into tears and threw her Easter basket, scattering what few eggs she had gathered. Deeply discouraged, she plopped down and refused to rejoin the hunt. While Katie tried to comfort Colette, Leila sailed on ahead, filling her basket to overflowing. (Tell you what, that kid can MOVE when properly motivated. I'm pretty sure she broke the sound barrier.)

Within seconds -- literally! -- all of the Easter eggs were gone. Meanwhile, at the encouragement of her mother and oldest sister, Colette had finally decided to give it another try. But by then it was too late. So she sat back down on the patio, wailing louder than ever. Then, from the back yard, I heard Savannah call out, "Come here, Colette! There's still one over here!" This puzzled me because I knew full well that the yard had been stripped clean of every last Easter egg. So I walked around the side of house and into the back yard to investigate. And there I saw Savannah taking eggs from her own basket, crouching down, and carefully planting them along the fence line. As she did so, she kept shouting out to her little sister, "I found another one!" And "Here's one more!" Eventually, she succeeded in coaxing Colette into the back yard, where she began picking up the eggs Savannah had hidden.

Back on the patio once more, Colette noticed the contrast between her few eggs and Leila's three dozen or so. And once again she burst into tears and threw her Easter basket in the air, scattering its meager contents. Undaunted, Savannah tried a new approach: she ran inside the house, got the bag of unused candy, filled a bunch of plastic eggs with it, and proceeded to hide those in the bag yard for Colette.

Amidst the hubbub and chaos of a hunt for Easter candy, Savannah saw that her little sister was discouraged and defeated. Neither parent said a word to her. She came up with a solution on her own. And gave away her Easter candy. What nine-year-old kid does that? Seriously, who does that?!!

(I'd like to claim that good parenting is responsible, but the truth is, the child was simply born that way.)

Silly Kids

Savannah was in the car with me several days ago when we came across a beer delivery truck parked in our lane. Savannah wanted to know what it was doing there, so I explained. In answering Savannah's follow-up questions, I explained that beer delivery people have to have strong muscles in order to haul the heavy crates and boxes. Savannah said, "Oh dad, you could never do that job then. You could only carry one or two boxes."

Gee, thanks Savannah!

September 20th Katie took the girls to the Dallas Zoo. Leila was pretty excited to report to me afterward that they had seen a "purple-butted monkey" (a Mandril). I thought that phrase demonstrated some pretty sophisticated linguistic skills on the part of my three-year-old. (I would have expected a phrase like "a monkey with a purple butt.")

On Friday, Savannah and Leila were playing together, braninstorming to come up with ideas. Savannah: "Let's be parents but not have any kids."

Saturday: Me: "My stomach is bothing me." Savannah: "Maybe you have a stomach ache." Ah, yes, thank you for that diagnosis, Dr. Savannah.

Colette was dancing wildly to some music Katie had playing in our room the other day. Every so often, she'd stop jumping around, pat her tummy, and squeal, "Me cute! Me cute!"

How right you are, darling!

An Interview with Savannah

This evening after her sisters went to bed, Savannah and I had another chance to talk.

Me: "Savannah, what is your favorite thing to do?"

Savannah: "Unwrap presents!"

Me: "What do you like most about yourself?"

Savannah: (pulling on her bangs) "This. I like my hair because it's so so long, longer than my sisters' hair. And it's red. It's pretty, so I like it the most."

Me: "Who is your favorite boy?"

Savannah: "Umm, Aiden I guess, but I don't really know."

Me: "Who is your favorite girl?"

Savannah: "Me!" A pause. Then, "It's hard to choose. I really like myself 'cause I'm so pretty, but so are my sisters. They are pretty, too. It would be hard to choose between them, so I would probably just say me."


Am I raising a confident, well-adjusted child, or a narcissistic one?

mindless fathers, or, the wisdom of a four-year-old

Tonight I sang the girls their bedtime songs. They requested songs from the Children's Songbook. They would thumb through the pages, select a song, and ask me to sing it. After finishing each song, I'd close the book and hand it back to one of the girls so they could pick the next one. After several songs, Savannah asked me why I closed the book each time I handed it to them. I told her I didn't know, that I did it without thinking.

After a moment's reflection, Savannah said, "Dad, you don't have a mind. I have a great mind because I think. But you don't think. Mom has a great mind. She thinks alot, just like I do." Then, after a pause, she said. "Dad, we could say that you have a mind, just not a great one like I do. That would be fair."

Sigh.

fatherly foibles

While I am often amazed by Katie's attention to detail, Katie is frequently bewildered by what I fail to notice.

Take tonight, for example.

Katie was out for the evening, so it was my responsibility to put Colette to bed. I dutifully got her ready. First, I dressed her in nice warm one-piece pajamas, which was a pain because there were a million snaps and Colette, being the busy 13-month-old that she is, was far too squirmy. I finally managed to get her to calm down by giving her a small doll to play with. Things went more smoothly after that. I got her blankie and her duckie, read her a bedtime story, sang her a couple songs, and put her in her crib. Instead of screaming and wailing like she usually does, she simply turned on her side and drifted off to sleep.

For the rest of the tranquil evening, I congratulated myself on a job well done. At about 11:30 p.m., Colette woke up crying. Katie picked her up and changed her diaper. While thus engaged, she felt something lumpy under Colette's back. So she reached inside the PJs, fumbled around, and pulled out a . . . doll. Well, no wonder the poor kid woke up! How on earth did I miss seeing that as I finished snapping up her pajamas?