Day with a 6-year-old
Addie talks a lot about marriage. She asks me why I'm not married, it's a fixation of hers. She says that she will get married, but she won't have any children. She might have one child. Does it hurt, she asks? Well, I've never had a child, but I think it does hurt, I say. I add, But it's worth it, you know? Yeah, she agrees.
When she asks me why I'm not married, I remind her that not everyone gets married. There are all kinds of ways to live, I say. You can live the way that makes you happy. But I might get married, I add. We are riding bikes to the park. I'm walking, Sylvia's on her tricycle that I have to pull from time to time over big cracks in the sidewalk, and Addie's on her new bike with training wheels that I have to pull a little for her when the incline gets too steep. I like my life, Addie says. That's so wonderful, I say, a little bubble of emotion swelling behind my nose. What about you, Sylvia? Do you like your life? Yeah, she immediately says with a descending intonation that would indicate a hesitancy in an adult response. But she means it. If Addie likes her life, then Sylvia likes her own life too. I like my life too, I say, as a tally sheet of currency sweeps through my mind. Yeah, I'm glad we all like our lives.
Later on the way to the aquarium, listening to the soundtrack of High School Musical 2, Addie tells me that when she grows up and gets married she will live in her parents coach house in the backyard with her husband. That way she can visit them whenever they want her to. And whenever you want to too, I add. Yeah, and my husband can visit his parents too, because they will live right across the street, she says. Oh, they will move into the neighborhood? I ask. No, he's a first grader, she says. Oh, I see, you already know who you're going to marry then? Yeah, he's in first grade. Do you two have a lot in common? Does he like music? No, he doesn't like music, but, let's see... he likes Star Wars, so do I, and scary movies.
Addie holds my hand when we're walking from the car to the aquarium. She never holds my hand back in her neighborhood. Sylvia is on my right hip and Addie flanks my left side. People will probably think you're our mom, Addie says. Ha, you're probably right, I say, although my hair is a lot darker than your hair and Sylvia's hair. My dad has black hair, Addie retorts, with a little bit of gray coming in. Well, maybe I'll make a t-shirt that says "The Babysitter" next time. Addie grins. Yeah, and I'll wear my Obama shirt! I'll wear the babysitter shirt and you wear your Obama shirt, perfect.
Later that evening, after Addie draws a picture on the dry erase board of a mad face and asks me how to spell every word in "I am mad at Kristen and Sylvia," and after she tells me all about their last babysitter who always had fun games to play ("She really used her imagination."), and after we have an imaginary phone call from the future where Addie is all grown up and my fresh memories of this moment are just a dream, she takes Sylvia's small baby doll and puts it under her shirt and says that she's going to have a baby. Sylvia squeals for the repossession of her baby, so Addie gets a larger baby from the other room. As she's setting up her pregnant belly, Sylvia requests some cooked eggs for dinner. Addie tries really hard to break an egg; such tremendous effort and such little force exerted can barely break it. We all pitch in a little for the scrambling. As I'm cooking the eggs, I hear Addie telling Sylvia in the other room, Push! Push!
When she asks me why I'm not married, I remind her that not everyone gets married. There are all kinds of ways to live, I say. You can live the way that makes you happy. But I might get married, I add. We are riding bikes to the park. I'm walking, Sylvia's on her tricycle that I have to pull from time to time over big cracks in the sidewalk, and Addie's on her new bike with training wheels that I have to pull a little for her when the incline gets too steep. I like my life, Addie says. That's so wonderful, I say, a little bubble of emotion swelling behind my nose. What about you, Sylvia? Do you like your life? Yeah, she immediately says with a descending intonation that would indicate a hesitancy in an adult response. But she means it. If Addie likes her life, then Sylvia likes her own life too. I like my life too, I say, as a tally sheet of currency sweeps through my mind. Yeah, I'm glad we all like our lives.
Later on the way to the aquarium, listening to the soundtrack of High School Musical 2, Addie tells me that when she grows up and gets married she will live in her parents coach house in the backyard with her husband. That way she can visit them whenever they want her to. And whenever you want to too, I add. Yeah, and my husband can visit his parents too, because they will live right across the street, she says. Oh, they will move into the neighborhood? I ask. No, he's a first grader, she says. Oh, I see, you already know who you're going to marry then? Yeah, he's in first grade. Do you two have a lot in common? Does he like music? No, he doesn't like music, but, let's see... he likes Star Wars, so do I, and scary movies.
Addie holds my hand when we're walking from the car to the aquarium. She never holds my hand back in her neighborhood. Sylvia is on my right hip and Addie flanks my left side. People will probably think you're our mom, Addie says. Ha, you're probably right, I say, although my hair is a lot darker than your hair and Sylvia's hair. My dad has black hair, Addie retorts, with a little bit of gray coming in. Well, maybe I'll make a t-shirt that says "The Babysitter" next time. Addie grins. Yeah, and I'll wear my Obama shirt! I'll wear the babysitter shirt and you wear your Obama shirt, perfect.
Later that evening, after Addie draws a picture on the dry erase board of a mad face and asks me how to spell every word in "I am mad at Kristen and Sylvia," and after she tells me all about their last babysitter who always had fun games to play ("She really used her imagination."), and after we have an imaginary phone call from the future where Addie is all grown up and my fresh memories of this moment are just a dream, she takes Sylvia's small baby doll and puts it under her shirt and says that she's going to have a baby. Sylvia squeals for the repossession of her baby, so Addie gets a larger baby from the other room. As she's setting up her pregnant belly, Sylvia requests some cooked eggs for dinner. Addie tries really hard to break an egg; such tremendous effort and such little force exerted can barely break it. We all pitch in a little for the scrambling. As I'm cooking the eggs, I hear Addie telling Sylvia in the other room, Push! Push!