Rotten but honest about it

Today Genevieve was curled up on my lap and Imogen came over and attempted to kiss her cheek. Genevieve turned away, blocking her face with her arm. Imogen simply walked away with a hurt expression. I whispered to Genevieve that perhaps she could be kinder to her sister, who was, after all, only being sweet to her.

Not being a fast learner, Imogen tried again a few minutes later, only to be pushed away by Genevieve again. I was annoyed, and dispatched Genevieve from my lap, saying "Fine. I will give Imogen a hug then."

Genevieve plopped down on the floor and proceeded to cry about this unwelcome turn of events.

"What is wrong?"

"You hurt my feelings," she cried.

"What about Imogen's feelings?" I asked. "Don't you care about those?" Wrong question.

"No," she said tearfully.

Pepto quiche

Imogen had another stomach ache a few days ago, conveniently coinciding with another room cleaning session. Finally, I offered her some pepto bismol, which she accept. I measured out tablespoon and fed it to her, with much delight at the horrible faces she made. Shuddering, she said, "That is the worst stuff I have ever tasted. Except quiche." My jaw dropped.

Offended that my quiche could possibly be compared to pepto bismol, I asked, "What's wrong with quiche?!"

"I don't like it," she said dismissively.

"Well, guess what's for dinner?" I said. "Quiche!" I had planned this, but not told anyone. It was ironic, to say the least.

Imogen glared at me. "How long have you been planning this?" she said.

She ended up loving it.

Pink?

Imogen and I were browsing the L.L. Bean website today, where I'm thinking of getting their backpacks. I've finally settled on which backpack I like best, and I called them over to pick which color they wanted. Imogen agonized over which one and changed her mind multiple times before settling on the lavender backpack with the small embroidered flamingo. Genevieve walked up, studied the choices for about three quarters of a second and said, "The pink one with the butterfly," and walked away.

Imogen stuck around as I wandered around the site aimlessly (her school orders their uniforms from L.L. Bean and I was trying to find them on the site). I clicked on a random dress. Imogen said, "Oh, Genevieve would like that. It's pink and has flowers." From across the room Genevieve shrieked "Pink?? I love it!!"

Nail Biting

Yes, perhaps it shouldn't surprise that Imogen is a nail biter. After all, she's such an easy, relaxed, passive sort of person. Never gets riled up about anything minor. *cough*table settings*cough*

So yeah, her hands are just hideous too. The nails are short and jagged and she drags and scrapes her teeth on her nail beds (past her cuticles) so they are constantly splitting. She has hangnails all over the place, they're all scabby, not to mention painful. She's always asking for bandaids to shield her poor fingers from herself. I need to get something perfectly nasty to put on them in an effort to help her quit. She says she tries to, but I know how absent minded habits like that be. I figure if she really wants to, maybe the nasty tasting stuff will help. If she doesn't, I know Imogen. She'll lick it off for a while then figure out that she can wash it off.

But today, this all took a rather unpleasant twist. She has some minor but painful toe injury from stubbing her toe on something. As I was examining the little wound, I noticed something odd. A familiar jaggedness to her toenails.

"Do you bite your toenails?" I asked, figuring that she just plays hard and her toenails break off often. She didn't answer but just stared at me with suddenly wide eyes. I couldn't believe it. "Seriously??" I asked, "You honestly bite your toenails? Really?"

She finally said very quietly, "Yes."

I was aghast, "Seriously??" I stared at them. It was quite obvious now. They looked very much like her fingernails. I searched my memory, trying to think of when I last clipped them. "Seriously?" I said again, still trying to wrap my brain around this one. "When??" I asked, realizing I had never seen this particular activity.

"Not as often as my fingernails," she said.

Oh, no kidding. That's a huge comfort. I'm still picturing her somewhere hunched over with her foot grasped tightly in both hands and held at her mouth as she gnaws away. I tried to deliver a suitable lecture about the germs that are under both fingernails and *shudder* toenails.

"Well, I didn't know," she said defensively.

I'm sitting here wondering if somehow I caused this. Did I neglect her nails, driving her to chew them off in desperation? Did she ask me at some point to cut them and I forgot to? Do we perhaps not own enough pairs of nail clippers?

She's started chewing on her hair recently. That's all I need.

Losses

Imogen has been a proud owner of a very friendly hamster for a very short period of time. Now I am a not-so-proud owner of a hamster.

I recently walked into Imogen's room to find Melly's cage open and Imogen nowhere in sight. I was shocked, and lectured her on the safety of her pet and the possible consequences of her escape.

Only a couple days later, Genevieve walked in holding Melly. She had found her in the corner of the bathroom, cornered by the dog. I'm not even sure how she got from the desk where the cage was sitting to the floor without hurting herself. Genevieve informed Imogen who nonchalantly waved a hand and told Genevieve to put Melly back in her cage.

I was very disturbed. If, at this point, Imogen had freaked out, been worried about Melly, grateful to Genevieve, or anything normal at all, I would have figured she learned a lesson that wasn't as costly as it could have been. As it was, her dismissive attitude toward the whole event bothered me.

I took the hamster away, but not for keeps. She got yet another lecture, this one on responsibilities in general and how she could earn Melly back by showing me that she could take care of the things she's supposed to take care of. These are relatively simple. She's supposed to keep her room clean, do her laundry (with a little help from me in pouring the detergent) and do her piano practices.

Exhausted at fighting with Imogen to practice her piano and worried we were killing her love of music rather than nurturing it, Jeremy and I decided to cancel her lessons. She begged us not to, however, so we told her she had one week to prove that she wanted lessons, by voluntarily doing her practices. We would remind her but not fight with her about it. I'm not going to drag a kid to a lesson for which she has barely studied. It's a waste of the teacher's time, my time, and my money.

After most of the week had passed without any practice, we finally canceled. Jeremy and I were very sad but Imogen sobbed. I have no idea why. We hope that she will want to take them again in the future. The day after we canceled her lessons, we found Melly's food scattered through Imogen's room, everywhere. Piled up in the corners of her desk drawers, spread between her sheets, sprinkled across the floor. Two pounds of hamster feed never went so far.

So I took Melly away to be mine. I don't want a hamster. I would have bought myself a hamster if I had wanted one. She's cute and fuzzy and fulfills the role of a hamster quite well, but that's hardly the point. I don't even know what to do with her.

Very many very's

Imogen: "It's a very very very very very very very... *takes breath* very very very-"
Me: "STOP SAYING VERY!!!"
Imogen: "Well, I didn't want just one very."
Me: "Well, then use a word that means 'veryveryveryveryvery' like 'extremely'."
Imogen: "Well... it's a lot of years."
Me: "Till what?"
*silence* At this point, if there had been a brick wall in my van, I would have happy banged my head on it. Finally Imogen remembers: "Till Zeus dies."

To the moon

Conversation in the van the other day:

Imogen: Mommy, some night can we go to the moon?
Me: What?
Imogen: Can we go to the moon?
Me: (sure that I've misheard) To the moon?
Imogen: Yes.
*insert short explanation about astronauts and rocket ships*

Swimming..

How to make a child cry

There are plenty of ways to make a child cry. Easy ways like taking their toys away when they won't pick them up or grounding them from candy when they eat all of their Easter candy in one afternoon. You can try for something challenging like a sad story, but really, you'll have more success just telling them to clean their room before they can watch a movie.

Or, you can go with the tried and true, like saying "na na na-na na". It's old fashioned, almost quaint, and like many things that have stood the test of time, it works.

And frankly, I'm sick of it. I hear from Genevieve at minimum, two or three times a day. "Imogen said 'na na na-na na' to me!" As if I care. Even a little. I held my fingers about a millimeter apart and said "I don't even care this much." I was rewarded with the Glare of Death, which would be fine if the message would sink in, but no, the battle rages on.

So I've taken matters into my own hands. So you happen to be at my house any time soon and hear me taunting my children with a loud "Na na na-na na!" do not be alarmed. It's my new strategy. I'm hoping to overuse this expression (for lack of a better word) until it ceases to have any meaning whatsoever. Until then, I'll have children spontaneously bursting into tears and complaining that I've hurt their feelings.