Last night, Geoff ran to the store with Kaya and Kahlua, in part to grab a few things, in part to to give me a much-needed break after a long day with whiny beings.
Naturally, I asked him to get me some ice cream.
I know, I know--according to Geneen Roth (an author that I love!), eating ice cream at the end of a long day when I'm NOT hungry but REALLY just want ice cream, would be eating emotionally. But, I figure, at least I know that I'd be eating emotionally. Everybody eats emotionally, she says. Some of us just can't move on from it when we do. (So, clearly I'm working on being able to "move on" so I can keep on enjoying that delicious creamy goodness. I'm sure there's some aspect of this reasoning that falls under the eating disorder category, but alas...one step at a time, I figure...)
So, Geoff and Kaya come home, having allowed me enough time to have a good conversation with my sister and play some mind-numbing Tetris. Kaya, having surely sensed my curiosity about my request-command, says "Mama, Eis" (Mama, ice cream) as she climbs up into my lap. Could it get any better, any sweeter than that? (well, maybe in the next story...)
So, after I force myself to eat some real food so I can have ice cream for desert (another questionable food tactic!), I sit down on the stool in the kitchen. The thought runs through my head that it might be better for me to sit at the table to eat this dairy delight. Better because, according to the emotional eating guru, if I truly accept that I'm eating what I am, then I can enjoy it, and it can leave me feeling satisfied instead of wanting more. Yeah, I get that. But it's 7 o'clock. Later than I want Kaya to have sugar. I'm staying on the stool.
So there I sit, enjoying the hell out of the chocolate chip ice cream atop the cookie that Geoff brought me from work. Ahhh. Hard day. Yum. Big chunks of chocolate, vanilla ice cream, cookie underneath. Yum!!! And then I hear her, voice getting nearer, and soon, there she stands at my feet, pointing at my cookie goodness. Uh-oh. She saw it! It's late! Can I still hide it? No, don't hide it. But it's late! She looks right at me, at the cookie and ice cream in my hand. It's over, I think. Her low energy evening has come to a close. She stands there, staring, mouth open, pointing at the counter now, and says, "Brot!" (bread!). What?!! Really?!? Does she think I'm eating bread? What does she think the white stuff is? Butter??! Yikes. Regardless, I act quickly, trying to get the bread out of the bag before she changes her mind and comes to her senses. "Brot," she says again, pointing eagerly. Done. Bread it is...
Then, she comes closer, and I think, for sure, it's ice cream-time for Kaya now. "Butter," she says in German, pointing to the cupboard. Once again, I breathe a sigh of relief and disbelief, as I spread peanut butter on her bread. She heads into the family room to enjoy her snack, and I dive back into the pint of heaven. Minutes later, she returns, covered in peanut slime. "Up," she says, indicating that she wants to sit in my lap. It's definitely over now, I think, as she looks straight at the pint of Haagen Daaz. But once again, her words impress me as she says, like never before, "Mama's."
That's right, it IS my ice cream. And I couldn't be happier that my family is clear about that. But the concept isn't what impresses me so much--it's the grammar.
Using possessive adjectives is a big step in language development. !!!!
Pause. Pause. Pause.
But we can't stay here and ogle forever, as much as she is our sweet kid--
so I'll add another anecdote about s's on the end of her words...
As Geoff was reading to Kaya tonight, she identified "flowers" and "frogs" and "cars" like she's never done before. When he pointed this out to me, I had trouble believing that she was really using plurals, as opposed to just repeating what she'd heard Geoff say. So, we conducted a little 'test':
"What's this," he'd ask, pointing to ONE car.
"Auto," she said, in German. (out-oh)
"Yeah, Mama says Auto. What does Daddy say?" Geoff replied.
After a few seconds, clearly working it through her head, Kaya says, "Car."
Returning to our official grammar testing after the code-switch 'glitch', he continues to ask her to identify all sorts of single items that she has identified in the past: car, bird, ball, tree. No problem. He then does the same, with the the identification-request changed to the plurals:
"What are these, Kaya?" "How 'bout these?"
Cars. Birds. Balls. Trees.
I'm trying hard to refrain from passing positive judgment on my kid...(but I can hear my mom's voice now: "She's a genius, Tams! A genius!"
The other night, as we were sitting at the dinner table, we hear Kaya counting, "One spoon...two spoons!" I guess, I when I think about it now, tonight WASN'T her first night of plural usage, was it? =)
Possessive AND plurals in sort of two evenings.
Well, Geoff and I are eager to go watch a movie after a long day of nursing Kaya's tummy (she nabbed a stomach flu somewhere and was throwing up all evening, poor thing!). I'll save my "And I didn't even have puke phobia like I used to!"-story for another day, but I'll add this one in here as the cherry.
For the past many nights, Kaya has been saying what sounds like "Socken" (pronounced zoh-kin...meaning socks) right after I tuck her in. I ask her if she wants them on or off, but her replies are random and unclear, leaving me feeling confused and bewildered. Maybe she's like my mom, I think, wanting her socks off so she can rub her feet together while she sleeps. Excited at the personality similarity, I take her socks off, at which point, she protests a bit. Socks back on. Tonight was a similar charade, though I refrained from the stocking removal part. Once again, when I ask her "an oder aus", she replies with both, "an" then "aus," confusing me once again. After a few seconds, she starts fussing and kicking at the covers. Thinking she must be too warm, I pull back one of the blankets and watch.
And then, once again, "Schocken," this time with a slightly different sound in front.
"Schocken," she says again, as I'm stroking her hair (hoping upon hope that the puking is behind us).
And then it hits me: Schaukeln!! Schaukeln! She wants to rock in her rocking chair!
"Willst du schaukeln? Will Kaya schaukeln," I ask her, excited at my discovery.
(Do you wanna rock? Does Kaya wanna rock?)
"Nein," she says, definitively. "Mama." she adds, as my heart melts to the floor.
My sick baby just asked me to sit and rock next to her while she falls asleep in her bed.
How wonderful is this life...