In The Holiday Spirit

Could it be called anything but ironic that Clara Grace said “Thank you, Daddy" unprompted, for the very first time, as he set lunch on her tray Thanksgiving Day?

An Exercise In Humility

Clara Grace’s mommy and daddy pushed the long double stroller passed their town’s new liquor store during their evening constitutional on Wednesday, November the twenty-second. "At least it looks a little classier than most,” Clara Grace’s daddy said ruefully of the establishment. “They’ve made an effort with the wought iron wine wacks.”

“With the what?” Clara Grace’s mommy teased.

“You say it then,” he challenged. So they attempted the tongue twister of their own creation all the rest of the way to the grocery store.

As they neared their destination, Clara Grace’s mommy joked, “Clara Grace, can you say, wrought iron wine rack?” The parents were more than a little shocked and slightly chagrined to hear an almost perfect rendition issue from their daughter in the stroller on her very first attempt.

More Than Words Can Say

Clara Grace could not seem to get enough time with her new baby brother. “Come here, come here,” she often soothed as she wrapped her arms around his body as if to carry him from her mommy’s lap dispite his weight being over half her own. “Everett’s arms,” she constantly announced proudly patting and admiring her brother’s stumpy appendages, “Everett’s hands, Everett’s fingers.” At the slightest sound of discomfort from her baby brother, Clara Grace was immediately by his side patting his tummy vigorously and sounding the alarm, “Ah oh, Everett crying. Everett crying.” “Where’s Everett go?” was her regular inguiry whenever she and her mommy found themselves in a quiet house with a sleeping baby and “Want to see Everett,” was her constant request whenever the baby is in view. There was one phrase however which continued to baffle Clara Grace’s mommy. “Look-a-lump, look-a-lump,” Clara Grace was often heard cooing over the little boy. Her mommy gathered that the expression most certainly conveyed tenderness as it was always accompanied by all manner of hugs, kisses, and pats. The word for word meaning of this term eluded her though. Perhaps the expression is one of those rare ones for which there is no sufficient translation to convey the emotion in the limited vocabulary of our language.

Big Sister Sentiments

Up until Saturday, November the eighteenth, Clara Grace had shown absolutely no signs of that all too common aloofness big sisters aquire toward their younger brothers. Almost every morning on being released from her crib, her first question was, “Where’s Everett go?” That morning started out as no exception. “Want to see Everett,” Clara Grace persisted as she tagged along behind her daddy who carried the baby much too high for her to inspect properly. Obligingly, Clara Grace’s daddy knelt down and put Everett on eye level with his big sister. Unfortunately, but not altogether inconceivably due to the high frequence of that occurance, Everett chose that moment to spit up a healthy amount of his freshly consumed breakfast. "Everett spit,” Clara Grace informed her daddy, confident of the disapproval this action always gains her at the dinner table. Surprisingly, when no paternal reprimand was forthcoming, the big sister took the task upon herself. “Gross!” she announced definitively and then ran into the bedroom to tell her mommy enthusiastically, “Everett spits! Everett is gross!”

Hard Headed

Clara Grace pulled the shopping cart through the wide isles of the grocery store on the evening of Saturday, November the eleventh. As she approached the check-out lane, she realized from the slight drag that she was not in total control of the cart. Incredulous, she stopped in her tracks to tell her daddy just what she thought of that, but unfortunately, the cart did not stop as quickly and the little girl got a knock on the noggen. Of course, some crying was warranted and of course, a sympathetic cashier came running. “What happened?” she asked Clara Grace’s daddy.

“I bonked my head,” Clara Grace answered her.

“Did she just say she bonked her head?” the astonished cashier asked.

By this time, Clara Grace’s crying had lessened considerably. She’d only been in this new Bi-Lo a handful of times, but already she recognized the unique power which the cashier’s uniform worn in this store bestowed. “I want a sticker please,” she sniffled hopefully.

“Here you are darling,” the clerk brightened at a chance to make the little girl’s tears go away and pealed one of the “PAID” black and white cow stickers away from the waxy paper roll. The cashier reached out to stick the stickers which left the store on all milk jugs and almost all children to Clara Grace’s shirt.

“Me do it,” Clara Grace informed her exhibiting the same stubborn independence which had gotten her head bonked in the first place.

Do Ray Me

It was sometime during the month of October, just before Clara Grace turned two years old, when she truly began singing in earnest. Many autumn mornings she spent rocking on the porch swing with her mommy and requesting one song after another. “Sing the duck song,” or "Sing the baby song.” She drank in every word often singing along one phrase behind until she had masterd it. By the end of the month, her mommy could no longer count the number of songs Clara Grace knew by heart.

Kavetching

Clara Grace often listened to programs on public radio as she rode around town with her mommy and daddy. Up to Friday, November the tenth though, her parents were of the opinion that their little girl was interested more in the scenery outside the window than the riveting commentary that flowed from the speakers. That afternoon a commentator interviewed an expert on Yiddish customs and colloquialisms. When Clara Grace’s daddy pulled into the driveway and began unbuckling her seatbelt, the little girl bemoaned, “Oy daddy.” He smiled and asked, “Are you hungry, Clara Grace?” Oy, hungry,” his daughter kavetched.

Everyone's A Comedian

Riding home Halloween night, Clara Grace sucked proudly on the fruits of her labor. “Like a lollypop, like a lollypop.” She chanted excitedly.

“You like licking lollypops?” her mommy laughed.

Clara Grace was amused and continued her joke, “Like a lollypop, like a lollypop.” She chanted faster and faster with only momentary pauses for licking. When this phrase no longer evoked polite chuckles from her mommy and daddy though, she sought for another tactic. It was then the little girl stumbled upon word substitution, the first stage of toddler humor, or so her mommy had read. “Like a mommy pop. Like a mommy pop.” She continued all the way home.

Share And Share Alike

The day before Halloween, Clara Grace’s mommy practiced the time-honored phrase for procuring candy with her hopeful little girl. Unfortunately, the thought of all those sugary delights seemed to make remembering new vocabulary something of a Herculean challenge.

“Okay, if you want candy you need to knock on the door and say ‘trick or treat.” Her mommy told her.

“”Trickeetree.” Clara Grace repeated.

“Right,” her mommy smiled encouragingly then closed the sunroom doors.

Clara Grace, in her cowgirl hat and bandana, knocked just as she’d been told then eyed the package of smarties in her mommy’s hand hungrily.

“What do you say?” her mommy prompted.

“Candy,” Clara Grace answered.

“No,” her mommy waited.

“More candy,” Clara Grace tried, her eager fingers outstretched.

“Nope,” her mommy said with a sigh.

“More candy, please,” Clara Grace attempted, this time remembering her manners.

Her mommy began slowly, “Well, that’s good, but—“

“More candy, more candy, more candy!” the little girl chanted in an escalating panic.

Her mommy tried one more time. “What do you say to get candy on Halloween?”

Clara Grace looked longingly at the sweets, and then at last a word did come to her. The word which her mommy so often used to persuade her to turn a cherished item over. “Share the candy,” Clara Grace instructed.

A Case Of Mistaken Identity

Clara Grace sat beside her mommy on the morning of Tuesday, October the twenty-fourth. Everett, the tiny one-month-old baby on Mommy’s lap, was still the most interesting playtoy in the house. All at once, they both heard an abnormally loud rumble which could only mean one thing. “Whoa,” Clara Grace commented in surprise and drew her hand back momentarily. “What do you think that was?” her mommy teased. The little girl looked once more at her tiny brother on her mommy’s lap and responded without hesitation, “mommy pooped.”

Please And Thank You

Clara Grace learned very quickly that the bank serves one purpose only and that is the withdrawal of suckers. On the afternoon of Monday, October the twenty-third, she waited while her daddy did whatever it was that he did at the drive through teller and then called through her open window, “lollypop please!” The amused teller sent two of the sugary treats through the underground tunnel. “Thank you,” Clara Grace called much to the teller’s delight. “Window up please,” the little girl told her daddy.

Mighty Fine Motor Skills

Clara Grace sat beside her mommy and baby brother on the couch Monday, October the sixteenth. Her mommy was feeding Everett and talking to Clara Grace about all the things left to do before they could leave for the park that morning. “Do you know where your shoes are?” she asked the little girl. “Yeah,” Clara Grace answered and ran off toward her room. “Found it!” she called and ran to join her mommy on the couch again. When Everett had finally finished eating around ten minutes later, Clara Grace’s mommy was shocked to discover her not even two-year-old daughter had already wriggled into her own footwear and even refastened the Velcro.

All In The Timing

Clara Grace wiggled and squirmed in her daddy’s arms at the checkout line on Saturday, October the fourteenth. “What are you doing?” her daddy finally asked as he noticed the curious stares of onlookers directed his way. To his mortification, Clara Grace replied very loudly and enthusiastically, “I’m Sooooo poopy!”

Reach Out And Touch Someone

Clara Grace waited in the Hobby Lobby checkout line with her daddy more or less patiently on the afternoon of Thursday, October the twelfth. Curiously, the toddler slipped under the chain and into an abandoned cashier’s station. Her daddy watched the little girl closely but didn’t see anything in too much danger at the moment.

“Good afternoon,” Clara Grace’s daddy heard the cashier from his line announce cheerfully and realized she was addressing him. Just as he was about to swipe his card at the end of his purchase, a sound from the abandoned lane caught his attention.

“Hello, hello?” a confused voice inquired through the speakerphone.

Clara Grace stared wide-eyed at the unusual phone trying to remember which of the hundreds of interesting buttons had evoked this response. She couldn’t believe her luck, perhaps checkout lines weren’t really so boring after all. There was only one female voice which regularly spoke to her through such a contraption. She answered excitedly, “Hello, hello Nana!”

If I Do Say So Myself

As the mail truck pulled away on Wednesday, October the eleventh, Clara Grace and her Daddy went out the front door to retrieve what he had left in their box. “Checking the mail,” the little girl announced conversationally on the way down the sidewalk. “There goes an orange cat,” she told her Daddy and pointed at her old friend across the street. “Walking away,” she sighed sadly as the cat quickly scampered under a car. She watched her Daddy flip through the stack of envelopes and in the absence of any forthcoming praise, she finally announced, “talking so well.”

Bumps In The Road

Clara Grace found her daddy doing yard work on the morning of Wednesday, October the eleventh. Blissfully unaware of his current state of productivity, she decided to use him as a human highway for her tiny fire truck. “Up the leg,” she told him as the red engine plowed up his worn blue jeans. “Drive on tummy,” she continued as the truck made a U-turn along her Daddy’s old T-shirt. “Down the leg. Ah oh pocket,” she announced as the fire truck veered into the deep and unexpected pothole.

The Grass Is Always Greener

Clara Grace and her mommy sat reading a book together on the couch the morning of Tuesday, October the tenth. Suddenly, as though a new idea had come to her, the little girl reached for a second book that lay on the coffee table in front of them and handed it to her mommy. “Read too,” she told her and in quite a grown up air scooted a few inches away to open her own book. She began perusing the story she had chosen with occasional comments each time she turned a page such as, “Elephant walking in grass. Agalator jumping in water.”

Her mommy took the cue and began to read her own book with great interest. “Ah ha, there’s Elmo,” she announced quietly, and then, “Oh, look! What is Oscar doing?”

Reluctantly, Clara Grace peered around the cover of her own book and into her mommy’s. After a few more page turns and fascinated remarks from her mommy, she could bare it no longer. “Share,” she announced and offered her book in exchange.

“Okay,” Clara Grace’s mommy said in agreement to the swap.

In the same manner as before Clara Grace dove into her new book. She flipped the pages excitedly and exclaimed “Elmo, brushing teeth, Ahhh!”

Meanwhile, her mommy flipped a few rigid pages of the board book her daughter had discarded and commented, “Oh no, the hog is scared.”

Clara Grace’s page turning faltered and again she peeked around the corner of her book.

“Mama raccoon and baby raccoon are playing,” her mommy continued. By this time, Clara Grace was unabashedly reading over her mommy’s shoulder and it was clear she was having second thoughts about this new plan of hers. “Share,” she instructed her mommy once more, only this time, she took her mommy’s book and kept the other safely stowed beside her.