Tiny kiss
Whew. Now that the holidays are over I’m taking a much-needed break. And not for the normal “we entertain too much, too many parties, too much booze, too much visiting” reasons. No.
Au contraire. We cancelled or bailed on about as many holiday events or visits as we attended.
See a day after our solstice party, the second day of Mallory’s day care being closed for the holidays, Mallory got sick. This after going (pink eye excepted) about six months without getting a virus of any kind.
Even prior to that, it wasn’t setting up to be a stellar holiday. On our way to get our first ever Christmas tree – this should be an exciting event, no? Mallory exclaims “Want go day care.” Repeatedly.
Uh oh.
So we get the tree, decorate it (that’s where this photo’s from) and all’s going well.
Then my dad calls to say he’s too ill to make the trip up to Ottawa. Crap. But then after afternoon nap, Mallory wakes with a fever that is to last three days.
We cancel our Christmas Day trip to Kemptville to see Mallory’s grandparents. We bail on some playdates too. And we try to figure out what to do with an almost two year old too miserable to go out in the snow, too cranky to enjoy anything for more than a few minutes.
Mallory’s answer? “Want go shopping.”
Seriously. Some grim moments indeed.
So Mallory saw more DVDs, more malls and more of a lot of things we were trying to save her from this holiday.
It wasn’t all bad, though. She did have a lot of fun with her cousins on a couple of occasions, and she’s not yet at the present harvesting stage. She unwrapped her presents and played with them until they exhausted her interest. (It took all day to get through her presents — there weren’t that many, it’s just we opened them at a rate of about one every hour).
And her language skills took off, which brings me to the title of this post. I think she’s now on the brink of the chatter stage. Mostly in the mornings, she tells stories:
“Daddy show fireworks sky” (I pointed out the Ottawa anniversary fireworks to her on the 31st).
“Mallory help mommy make muffins” (Forget toys, Mallory’s favourite activity is now standing at the counter helping us cook. Oh, and did you note she’s also saying her name?)
These are two examples. They’re coming too fast and furious to keep track of them all. Except for this one.
Mallory was going to bed the other night. Irene and I had been having a cabin fever-inspired fight over some bit of stupidness around Mallory’s bath, which hadn’t gone well. There’d been much crying for which I was chiefly responsible.
I asked Mallory for a kiss – it’s a moment I live for – and she looked at me askance and said, “Tiny kiss” before brushing her lips against mine and then turning to Irene and heading off to bed.
