Maggie: “I don’t want to play any games. I only want to read D&D books!” At which point she heads upstairs and does just that.
(Note that she can’t quite read these books yet, but she loves looking at the pictures, especially the gruesome monsters.)
Maggie: “Oliver, you’re the best person in our whole family. I love you more than Mama. I love you more than Daddy. I love you more than Griffin. You are better than anyone.”
At least we know where we stand!
Maggie kicked off her spring break with a cinnamon roll nearly as big as her head.
After I got home from school today, Maggie called me upstairs. She specifically requested me, rather than Mama, which is somewhat unusual. As I reached the top of the stairs, I saw her proudly holding one of Sarah’s new dresses, as if she were wearing it, with most of it bunched up on the floor.
I laughed and said something banal, but Maggie decided she wanted to show me what it looked like “for real.” She started yanking aggressively at the zipper at which point I began to wonder if this was a good idea. I asked, “Maggie, are you sure Mama is ok with this?”
“Well,” Maggie ponders, “I did it this morning too!”
I slowly digested this, when Sarah’s voice floats up the stairs, “What you meant to say, Maggie, was, ‘Mama told me I’m not allowed to wear her new clothes.'”
“Oh yeah.” Maggie rolls her eyes and tosses the dress back on the bed.
The kids were ready for bed tonight with a good 45 minutes to spare. They wanted to play Munchkin, our current favorite game, but we’ve been playing a lot lately, so I suggested that we start a new book together. I told them that I had something in mind, and found the beautiful edition of The Hobbit that Sarah got for me many years ago. I’ve been putting off reading this with them because it is one of my favorite books; I didn’t want to drag them through it before they could appreciate it. And, truth be told, a small part of my heart would break if they didn’t find the magic in it.
With some trepidation I brought the book upstairs. Griffin was interested, with some reservations—we’ve had mixed results with chapter books. Maggie groaned and moaned, stating categorically that she didn’t like the book, despite knowing nothing about it. I told them a bit about the story—dwarves, goblins, a dragon—and we spent some time examining the beautiful cover. Griffin was in, but Maggie remained skeptical. I suggested that we give it a try.
As we began chapter one, “An Unexpected Party,” my fears were allayed. As I once was, they were captivated by the opening lines:
In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.
They giggled about the worms and then wanted to know so much more about this comfortable hole. By the time the first dwarves made their appearance, they were laughing and exclaiming about everything. They loved Bilbo’s obsession with food, particularly cakes, and were in hysterics over the emptying of his many pantries. When things took a serious turn, with the song about the misty mountains and the dragon’s depredations, they were both completely hooked. Griffin announced, “this is the best book ever” and Maggie, in an uncharacteristic turn, agreed.
Inspired by Finding Dory, Griffin and Maggie created a movie together about the ocean. Here’s their plot summary:
A person is going on a boat and catches a fish. He roasted the fish on his little boat and then he ate it. Then a giant comes and he eats some beads and then he eats the person and then he turns into a clown.
During an epic game of Munchkin Deluxe, Maggie was on a rampage and I was getting pummeled by nasty curses. After drawing yet-another card of doom, I exclaimed, “Ugh, I’m getting knocked down at every turn!”
Maggie, chuckling with evil glee, countered with, “And I’m getting knocked UP at every turn!”
Back in February of 2014, I posted Two Plates, a scientific investigation into the culinary cleanliness of Griffin and Maggie. CliffsNotes: Griffin made a gargantuan mess, but Maggie didn’t.
One of the hypotheses of this experiment wasn’t testable until today:
1. Developmental stages. When Maggie is four, she will be just as messy. Was Griffin more fastidious when he was one? Memories are fuzzy and unreliable, but I don’t think so. We can test this in a few years with another set of pictures. (Strawberry shortcake for breakfast, February 15, 2017!)
Admittedly, I technically blew the experiment by serving strawberry shortcake a day early this year (I’m not sure why we had our Valentine’s Day breakfast on the 15th in 2014). But in the spirit of our anti-science (post-science?) times, I present our results anyway.
February 14, 2017 photo of Maggie’s place setting after her breakfast. Maggie is four years, nine months old.
February 14, 2017 photo of Griffin’s place setting after his breakfast. Griffin is seven years, ten months old.
The developmental hypothesis does not appear to hold. Maggie still has the cleaner area, though Griffin’s kept most of his detritus on his plate. (He also ate more, and with more enthusiasm, than she did.) But, clearly, mega-messes are not hardwired into four-year-olds.
I should add, too, that while Griffin still tends to be the messier eater, he is far better at keeping other areas of the house clean. At cleanup time, Maggie suffers from chronic debilitating attacks of exhaustion. Griffin, by contrast, will often tackle cleanup without being asked, rarely complains when we request a cleaning, and is developing a good sense of judgment about what will pass parental inspection.
Maggie regularly refers to her brain as her computer, usually in reference to her dreams or imagination. This morning as Griffin and I were talking about bad dreams, Maggie declared, “I don’t have bad dreams anymore because I thumbs down them in my computer.”
