Is it just me, or is it sometimes very hard to distinguish between preschooler behavior and, well, schizophrenic tendencies?
Check out Amy’s conversations below and let me know what you think.
Amy, while helping me babysit two little friends at a neighbor’s:
“Mom, I need to go to the bathroom.”
“Uh… OK. But didn’t you just go to the bathroom, honey?”
“Yep.”
“Is everything OK?”
“Yep.”
“Alrighty then. Off you go.” I motion toward the first floor powder room.
As Amy starts to round the corner to her destination, she says, “Oh, Mom? I’m actually going to take the elevator, OK?”
Confused, but pretty sure she’s not hallucinating and has simply entered The Land of Pretend, I remain neutral. “Oh?”
“Yep. I like to hit the button for South America. Good place to visit.”
All I have in response: dumbfounded wonder.
* * * * * * *
Silly Supreme
Out of the blue at the supper table with all five of us a few nights ago:
“Yeah,” Amy says.
“’Yeah’ what, Ame?” her dad asked. Keep in mind that NOTHING we had been discussing to this point had anything to do with what was to follow.
“Beethoven [our cat] was talking to me yesterday.”
Well, that got the attention of all four of us with her at the table. Hubby/dad, affable as could be, asks, “Oh really? What did she have to say?”
And totally straight-faced, Amy exclaims, “Butt!” And dissolves into giggles.
With the rest of us busting a gut right along with her.
Ed. Note: FYI, if you’re not regularly around preschoolers, or Amy in particular, they/she will burst out laughing the minute someone says “butt.” Her cousins enjoy maximizing this little quirk of hers for family entertainment purposes.* * * * * * *
Amy: Pensive? Thoughtful? Stewing?
After watching her sisters and several of neighbor kids getting on the bus at our driveway this morning:
“Isn’t it fun to think that next year, you’ll be getting on the bus right along with all of them, Amy?” I ask her. Given her trepidation about growing up, I’ve been trying to sneak some It’s So Fun to Be A Big Kid propaganda into our daily conversations, in the hopes that she’ll at least start to acknowledge that change is inevitable.
My Beloved Feline, Beethoven
She looks at me like I just suggested she feast on grasshoppers for breakfast.
“I’m not going.”
“Oh really?” I try to stay casual and keep the chuckle out of my tone.
By now we’re inside, peeling off her coat. She glances over at Beethoven. “I’ll go if she goes.”
“What do you mean?” I hadn’t had any caffeine at this point, mind you.
“When Beethoven goes to school, then I’ll go, too. OK?”
After this assertive proclamation, she nods at me once, as if to simultaneously emphasize her point and dismiss me, and then wanders away to play.
I am NOT one of those people who thinks that every person in the world has a mental illness. But I really DO think we need to keep an eye on this kid.
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