Caitlyn likes to make this weird lip-smacking/kinda-kissy noise, which I can’t stand, partly because it’s repetitive and partly for some unpleasant associations which she wouldn’t understand if I tried to explain. She thinks it’s a bird noise. Fine by me, just don’t do it where I am, so I don’t hear it. So, Me: “Don’t make that sound, Caitlyn, or do it where I can’t hear you.” Caitlyn: “Ok.” But the Annoying Sound resumes. Me: “Don’t make that sound!” Caitlyn: “But I covered my ears!”
Category: Caitlyn
An African gentleman, probably Somali, boarded the bus we were riding to school this morning. Older, in a three piece suit, henna’d beard, traditional hat, talking on his cellphone. Caitlyn looked at him, turned to me and said, “He looks like God.” “What?” “The man over there. He looks like God.” “He looks like God? Why?” “Because he’s wearing the same hat.” “Oh? Does God wear a hat like that?” “Uh-huh.” “Does God also talk on the phone?” “Sometimes.”
Caitlyn came upstairs this morning and announced to her sleep-fogged parents that she had dressed herself in shorts and a short-sleeve shirt because: “It’s spring! Now we can eat popsicles!” I’ve been explaining for days that just because it’s the first day of spring doesn’t mean that it’s suddenly going to be warm and flowery. I think school might be complicating matters. Caitlyn explained the other day that on Friday, “while we’re sleeping, the Seasons Clock is going to go” – sharp hand motion going from left to right, made with a not-quite-thunking sound – “into spring. Then there will …
We took the train to Portland last weekend, the first Amtrak train trip for both Caitlyn and myself (Ian’s done most of the West Coast by train). I’ve taken trains in Europe, but this was the first non-light-rail train trip in the States for me. And I might just be a train convert. Significantly less stress than flying since there were no airport security tactics and more comfortable than driving. Caitlyn got to play with other kids on the trip down and entertain someone else’s grandmother on the trip home – all while not being strapped into her car seat. …
Caitlyn has decided to determine the distance between home and school. So she counts to herself, “One, two, three, four…” starting, of course, at some random point along the bus route. When the bus stops, she stops. When the bus gets going again, she picks up where she left off. “Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…” She gets to thirty-nine before needing help. “What comes after thirty-nine?” “Forty.” “Forty. Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three…” She made it to one hundred nine before getting snarled up in what should be next, asking me instead for what should come after ninety. Fortunately, it was our stop …
Caitlyn goes racing down the hall, into the office, zig-zagging around where I’m folding laundry. “What are you doing?” I’m a bit suspicious. It’s the tail-end of the day and she’s probably moving her toys into the office where I’ll trip over them or something. “Running!” And she runs back toward her room. It’s not a long hall, so the complete circuit requires less than one minute. “Why?” Every parent’s question. “Because I’m crazy!” Saying it seems to have pointed out the truth in her actions. She stops running and returns to her room, where she begins having conversations with …