Somewhere I long for a special date with my girl, the dark theatre embracing us in glittery dreams snapping across a gigantic screen. So we went to see
Ponyo at a special, old, beautifully restored theatre downtown. Half-way through the film, Audrey started yelling out, “I want to go home now, Mommy! It’s too scary!” This from the girl who has loved, dearly loved,
My Neighbor Totoro with a mesmerized affection. Still, Audrey insisted, so we left. On the way home, she wanted me to carry her—all uphill. Where was my big girl? What was happening? I asked her to walk, several times. Finally, she said something like, “Mommy, I’m just getting tawer and tawer [taller and taller], and you won’t be able to carry me.” Audrey reminded me that she is growing up, and I should enjoy carrying her while I still can. Panting, wincing, and blinking in the sun, I was struck with a perpetual conflict in parenthood—trying to be in the moment, to appreciate small wonders, to treasure every drop of cuteness—and the fact that she was, in fact, very heavy, I was very tired, the hill was very steep, and the lark was waning. I’m slowly embracing all of these feelings—they just are, sometimes all together, at once.
Audrey often talks about growing “tawer and tawer”. At dinner (on 31 August) Audrey told me that she was getting "tawer and tawer," and that one day when she's very tall she is going to swim with whales and sea otters. Then she said that I could come too, if I want. She told me that I could fly across the air to her, and we could swim with whales and sea otters together. I love the way her hands course the air when she concocts a story, like the director of an enormous orchestra. Of course I want to join my little honey in her magnificent quest!
Audrey calls Oliver “widduh boi,” [little boy] as in, “are you okay, widduh boi?” She also calls him “buddy” a lot. If he gets hurt or upset, Audrey will say in the most whimpering, sympathetic tones, “oh, buddy!” It sounds like my grandmother Berniece. She takes Oliver by the hand and guides him around the house. For a long time he seemed to love being dragged along. But as he gets older, he seems more independent, and he appreciates less her increasingly strong direction, especially through stores and on errands. She can tell I’m in a hurry, and she pulls his little hand so hard. He seems to shut down the world to wait for him. We all have to wait for his pace, one small step at a time, one moment after the next, steadily growing up. I have to say, though, it was fun to watch Audrey initiate Oliver into piratehood, helping him into a hat and saying, “aaarg, matey!” One night she bent down into his face, like the starting line of a race, and said, "Dude! Wet's get in da baf!" Bath time never began so well.
Another funny saying came after Jon’s attempt to cease Audrey nose-picking, which really bugs him. He had asked, “are you finding any gold in there, Audrey?” Later when I pulled her hand away from her nose, she yelled, "Hey, der's gold in dere!" When I saw her putting her yogurt into her malt-o-meal, I felt my throat constricting, my eyes wincing, getting annoyed. I started in: “Audrey—why—what are you doing? No. No! You don’t—“ When Audrey told me, quite simply and adamantly, “I'm making my malt-o-meal feel better."
Audrey is very interested in telling time and in dropping references to time, like “last night” and “tomorrow.” I remember her starting that during our swim lessons several weeks ago. I tried to focus her enthusiasm to get in the water, when we had to wait for our lesson to begin, by showing her the big clock on the wall, pointing to the big hand and the twelve, saying, “as soon as that big hand gets to the twelve, we can get in the water.” For a long time she dropped other time references quite out of place, saying things something like, “I will want more ice cream yesterday. Yeah. I will,” talking about tomorrow.
That also shows Audrey’s bend for logic and argument. When she wants something, she’ll find a way to rationalize towards it, accepting compromises and ultimately accepting delayed gratification. For example, tonight she had chocolate pudding in a jack-o-lantern carved orange. She had helped make the pudding this morning, and her dad had helped finish the fun presentation. It was a very fun treat. But she couldn’t finish it all due to a stomach ache. Later she asked for it, and I explained that we had thrown it away. She said, “Alright. Mommy, I will like to make another special treat tomoiyyo [tomorrow].” I grinned and replied, “Really? You would? You would like to make another special treat tomorrow?” She was satisfied with her final answer, “Yes. I would.” That seemed to satisfy her, which relieved me. She can be very loud and adamant about certain things she wants—especially sweets. But occasionally making her case and being heard seems to settle things—until she remembers the next day, and revives the issue.
Audrey recently learned to skip, and it’s been a fun addition to her ballet class. We’re taking little breaks here and there with that class, not putting too much pressure on her, and trying to just let her grow into it. I’m confident that she can do all the steps in her own time, and will demonstrate ability to concentrate in the strict environment more and more as she matures. In the meantime, I think having the class in doses helps to keep it a positive force, engaging, and new.
Audrey has been practicing Halloween, going around the house saying, “trick-or-treat,” and talking about candy. Secretly, I hope the events we attend will actually have small toys or favors instead of so much candy. But. That’s probably wishful thinking.
At her three-year check-up (in September), Audrey weighed 30.5 pounds (in the 65 percentile), and was 37 inches tall (in the 60 percentile).
Big as she is, Audrey still loves to strip down and cuddle in a soft blanket. I’ll find her undressed at odd moments, and trailing a “bwankie” like a queen in a magnificent cape. She also refuses to ride in Jon’s truck—with no explanation necessary. And even though she stopped wearing Clifford pull-ups many months ago, occasionally she will still declare, “I’m Clifford, Mommy. Clifford the Big Red Dog.” She likes to be called “Clifford,” then, and will correct me if I misstep.
