this woman’s work

Almost three (two more days)

Mar 28, 2007 Parenting

Madison spins around in front of my feet when I’m trying to walk and I trip over myself or her. She sings while she does it. She sings and spins and slaps the walls around her. She touches everything — reaches out to lay her fingers on me, tickling, singing. She leaps around, hiccups, places a hand on each of her lined up toys (they’re playing train) and then her attention is on to something else.

It exhausts me just to watch her.

She stomps around flat-footed — thud thud thud. Then tiptoes with all but her big toe curled under. She wants to sit outside and read like Noah. But it has to be a big kid book — all words, no pictures — like Noah. It’s a major production to get up under the blanket, her chairs set up the way Noah has set up his chairs, one for her bottom and one for her feet. She pulls the blanket up around her, checking with sly eyes to see if she matches. Then when it’s all ready, she’s done and crying as she gets caught up, trying to climb out.

She screeches. We say, “Madison, you sound like a dying crow. Please talk instead of screaming!”
“Next time,” she promises but of course she forgets. It’s a pitch that goes right through my head like a train whistle. The hair on my arms goes up and I feel a panic — must stop the screeching! — and it’s never an emergency. It’s that her muffin top unpeeled with the paper or her shoe is coming off or she can’t reach her book.

Her brain works faster than ours do. Noah said, “G’s brother was outside today.” She nodded, “And I’m like a Cody.” It took me a minute to remember that G’s brother’s name is Zack.

Her favorite shirt is a tie-dye t-shirt way too big for her that she inherited from Paige’s son. Her favorite underwear is none. (”Do you have underwear on Madison?” Yes, she’ll nod but flip up her skirt and she’s flying free.) Her favorite way to wear her hair is “poofy” (pulled out of her eyes but no braids, baubles or bows). Her favorite song is Grand Coulee Dam (the kids love these mp3s, by the way). Her favorite book is The Daddy Mountain. Her favorite toy is Diosius (the doll, sometimes called Miranda). Her favorite things to eat are pears and toast.

She loves to play with her dolls. She puts them to bed and feeds them breakfast. She tucks them up to read a book and brushes their hair. At the zoo, she pushed her doll in the stroller all the way around, fussing over her when we stopped at displays. (We called the doll stroller our “Madison calming device” like the speed bumps they put in the road. It kept her from darting off because she is very conscientious about taking care of her babies.)

She digs in the trash when we’re not looking. She took a bite of the raspberry soap Barb sent while I was sitting next to the bathtub reading a book. (”Just read your paper, Daddy,” she say, sliding across the tub with a cup of water she plans to ease out to drip on the floor.) She closes her door and all goes quiet and then there’s certain disaster. (On the phone one day with AmFam there was an incident with poop being served in her toy kitchen.) She finds every loophole, defies all our child-proofing efforts. She wants to behave but curiosity gets the best of her. She sniffs candles then bites them. She swipes boxes of noodles then dumps them. She scribbles on tabletops then cries when she sees what she’s done. She smashes blueberries into the couch then warns Brett, “Don’t be mad, Daddy!” The dregs of my coffee aren’t safe from her. She’ll find a chair and drag it over if I leave the room. My ears are always pricked for doors closing, cupboards opening and faucets turned on.

Noah is her hero and her arch nemesis. She dug into the clean laundry and put all his underwear in her underwear drawer not just because she wants to be him but also because she knew it would make him crazy. She’s mastered the art of teasing and will run to his room to announce that she’s having toast AND it’s on his favorite plate.

Her love for Noah extends to a love for all great big grown-up boys. One of the last times Paige’s son visited she sidled up to him and said, “You taste like apple pie!” This was hot on the heels of her announcing to another friend’s big brother, “I’m gonna eat you up like porridge!” At the park, she looks longingly at the big kids then heaves a sigh to play with the preschoolers closer to her own size.

She loves to talk on the phone to Jessica, to Grandma, to Gramps. If Jessica asks to talk to me she’ll say, “Oh Mommy can’t talk; she’s working.” And run off with the phone before I can get my hands on it.

She loves the men in the family. “There go my boys,” she said affectionately, watching Gramps and Noah walking away across the yard.

She is sunny and cheerful. Quick to anger, quick to laugh. She’s generous with hugs and giggles. Her mind sparks all the time — to new thoughts, new jokes, new ideas. When she’s angry with us, she flaps her hands in fury. She’s bossy but forgiving. She climbs playground equipment like a child closer to four and is already figuring out how to pump on the swing.

Happy Birthday by Madison (click to hear her)

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