Friday, February 25, 2011

We learn to adapt early on.

My two year old daughter is pretty incredible. At this age, she can speak like a three year old. She has a ton of attitude. And she's already learned the art of adaptability.

Most days, when she wants to cut something herself, dress herself, or any other sign of independence, it's: I'm a big girl mommy. Over and over and over. Seriously I really doubt her brother professed is independence as much as she does. And at first, I just saw it as a typical two year old stage.

But over the last few days, she's shown another side. The I'm-too-little side. And when I want her to clean or go potty or do something that actually takes some work, it's: But I'm too little mommy. (Which is even more frustrating as the first phrase believe it or not.)

I'm sure this is all part of the independence process but I can't help but laugh, even if it's just on the inside, about her ability to decide whether or not she's big enough to do something or not.

Our children are so observant...or are they?

My husband's grandmother elected to go off of dialysis about ten days ago. We all knew what that meant, and I think every visit involved more and more nervous air. That is, except with my children.

The first time I visited her after her last dialysis appointment, I didn't know what to expect and I wanted to make sure I could answer my children's questions if they had any. So I went alone, and was glad to have some time with this woman I've admired from the very beginning. We had a nice chat, with me sitting on the edge of her bed so she could rest.

After that day, we took at least one of our kids over to spend time with their great-grandmother ever few days. Both our five year old and two year old ran into her room without much hesitation. They weren't afraid to walk up to her and visit a little before running off to play. And amazingly, the only question I've ever gotten from our son is why her teeth fall out...which is of course because he saw her take out her dentures one evening. He's brought it up many times and asks me if I'll be able to take my teeth out some day.

But what is so amazing to me is that even after she could no longer speak and was too weak to sit up or interact with them, they never stopped in their tracks, too scared to go in. She remained the same to them the entire time. I only wish we all had that blindness. The ability to remember the best of times and somehow put on the blinders to illness and approaching death. Maybe we would make our time together even more special, or at least void of awkward conversation.