Grace is my youngest child. On March 2, she will be five and a half years old. I may be in some denial about her growing up.
Yesterday, on the way to the grocery store, she piped up from the back seat: “Isn’t it nice that we can spend time together?” As if we don’t spend every day together, all day.
We bought some fried chicken from the deli, even though the smell of it and thought of it curls my lips in disgust. She and her 9-year old brother love drumsticks, just as I did as a child. Now I would sooner starve than eat a chicken drumstick.
All the kids are gnawing on their chicken (*shudder*) and suddenly, Grace stops and grimaces in pain. She said, “Oh!” and clutched a hand to her mouth. I reached out my arms and said, “What happened? Did you bite your lip?” and she said, “I bit the bone and MY TOOTH GOT LOOSE!”
Uh, I think I might have forgotten to mention to her that her baby teeth would fall out and her big teeth would grow in. I remember my other children being excited about this event . . . granted, one of my older boys was in about third grade by the time he lost his first tooth and his twin brother was only a little younger. My 9-year old lost his first tooth when he was 4, but he found it exciting.
I hugged my daughter to me and explained what happened. She spent the rest of the night pushing her tooth around with her tongue.
Tonight, she hollered for me while she was in the bathtub.
“Can we go somewhere tomorrow?”
“Because I want to buy some church shoes.”
“You already have church shoes,” I said, thinking of her black Mary Janes and her beige Mary Janes with the pink flower on them. Oh, and she has brown Mary Janes, too, not that she’s ever worn them. And let us not forget the fancy red satin shoes with red sequins.
“My church shoes are all ugly. Besides,” she said, “On Sunday I want to wear that really pretty pink dress and I need to get some pink shoes that match at that store we went with Zachary to buy new shoes yesterday because I know they have church shoes because I tried on those really pretty pink ones and I want to buy them even though they were too big.”
“We’ll see. Probably not.”
Contrast this with Zachary’s absolute disgust that I insisted he try on and allow me to buy new shoes for him. All of my boys have been shoe resistant and now I have a little Imelda Marcos on my hands. Life has a funny way of balancing out.