Wooster brought home five drawings yesterday, the same as she did day before yesterday and the day before that and the day before that.
"What's this?" I asked, pointing at one depiction of happy-faced girls with astronaut-bubble hair and brightly colored dresses.
"That's Chloe, and Emily, and Alyssa, and my brown dog and my black cat," she replied.
"And what's this?" I asked, pointing to another picture, this time of a frowning pair of four-legged creatures.
"That's my brown dog and my black cat," was the answer. "He's so sad, because I can't find him."
I opened the pink Mother's Day card she made for me. Inside, the pictures had been subtitled by her assistant. "I like when my mommy takes me to Wal-Mart." Above, a picture of me with Wooster, and a brown dog and black cat on leashes. I flipped the page, and there was a smiling Wooster with a creature in her arms. "My mommy made me happy when she brought my brown dog home."
At this point, an observer might be excused for believing that this is a tragic lost-pet story, without the Homeward Bound ending. An observer would be wrong, however, because we have not had a pet since Wooster was born. Joel and I thought she must simply want a pair of animals since all of her cousins have at least one pet. For the past four months, she's included these fantasy pets into every drawing she's done, and regularly informed me that "I so sad... because I don't have my brown dog and my black cat!" I felt bad, and Joel and I even discussed whether or not we were up to taking on another small, nonverbal dependent. (Answer: no.)
Yesterday, I picked her up from school early and told her that when we got home, her Aunt Kelly would be there to pick up the niece whom I care for.
"Good," Wooster said, settling back in her booster seat with satisfaction. "I can go to the pet shop."
I laughed. "Aunt Kelly's house isn't a pet shop, baby. She just owns two doggies."
"I need my brown dog and my black cat."
"Well, you can't have Aunt Kelly's doggies."
We got home, and Wooster tumbled out of the door immediately. "Where's Aunt Kelly?" she demanded of her dad, foregoing any sort of acknowledgment that he was home early. We had to endure fifteen more minutes of constant inquiry before Kelly finally came in.
"Excuse me!" Wooster demanded, flinging herself at her aunt. Kelly gave a small "oof" as she got the air knocked out of her, but Wooster paid that no mind. "WHERE'S MY PET SHOP???"
I rolled my eyes, but before I could say anything Kelly looked at me in disbelief. "Do you mean those Littlest Pet Shop toys I've been trying to give back for MONTHS belong to you guys? Why didn't you tell me they were yours? I've got this brown dog and black cat that have been driving me nuts because I know they're not mine!"
I gaped. Joel gaped. Wooster wailed, "I NEED my PET shop! And my brown dog and black cat!"
I'm sure there's an excellent moral to be gathered from this story, but I don't want to know what it is because I'm equally sure it says nothing good about my parenting.
Comments (3)
wow.... I must say I don't think I would have caught on to her communications. I am impressed with mom and dad's child rearing... She was communicating... :)
Love ya!
It is AMAZING what little ones can remember!! Hey, at least it's all figured out, and you don't have to worry about depriving her of a real live brown dog or black cat!
And oh, by the way, this is gabaldonfan, not knightedmonk.