Okay, when you read the above statement, what does it mean to you?
Yesterday, I attended a lunch wherein I gave feedback on a physics text I used in my physics classes, and so Richie took Vivian to lunch. I had to go to the doctor unexpectedly and didn't have time to pack a lunch, so I packed some sides, two oranges and a giant cookie, to be add-ons for whatever Richie decided to get for lunch. I assumed that might be a Subway sandwich.
When Richie and Vivian picked me up after lunch, I noticed the cookie hadn't been eaten. Richie and I quietly finished the cookie without offering any to Vivian. We dropped Richie off at his job, and as Vivian and I pulled away, Vivian said, "Daddy said we were going to have cookie after lunch."
Ugh! Richie promised cookie and then ate it and let me eat it and didn't tell me that it had already been promised to Vivian! I felt disappointed with Richie and guilty toward Vivian for eating the cookie. So I resolved we'd swing by the grocery store on the way home and purchase some manner of cookie for Vivian. I told Vivian that we didn't have any cookie with us right now, but we'd stop and get some cookies. To which she replied, "Daddy said we had cookie!" She kept insisting, and I kept saying, we don't have cookie NOW, but we're about to get some...so please settle down already! By the time we were at the grocery store, her rhetoric had simplified somewhat to, "We HAD cookie!"
We got out of the car and the change of scenery seemed to quiet Vivian. We grabbed a package of Hit cookies, paid, and left. When we got back in the car, I asked Vivian what she ate for lunch. She replied, "Wrap and potato salad." I KNOW the wrap and potato salad meal. It comes from the very grocery store we had just been in, and I know the third component of the meal that Vivian hadn't mentioned (or had she?): Cookies. So I changed my line of questioning. "Vivian, did you already eat a cookie today?" She said, "You mean with Daddy?" "Yes, with Daddy." "Uh - just one cookie. I TOLD you. We had cookie."
AHHHHHH! She had already had cookie! I turned to look at her to see what sort of expression she'd be wearing after all this. She was trying her best to suppress a smile, then it sort of eeked out the side and she looked out the window as if there was something really interesting out there. She is a mess. And she got ONE more cookie before naptime.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Sweet Walking
Vivian and I did Sweet Walking today. We packed our lunch in the cactus bag: carrot sticks, soft bread, cottage cheese, two hard-boiled eggs, two oranges, and a water bottle. We donned sun hats and sunglasses and then we walked to Colonial Williamsburg. We had to stop at the library to use the bathroom, and by the time Vivian announced, "We walked all the way to Williamsburg!" I thought it best to stop there in the interest of getting back in a decent amount of time. But we had made it to Brown Hall, which has a fantastic courtyard complete with new picnic tables. Perfect.
Vivian and I ate at a leisurely pace, shedding our shoes and touching our socky feet together on top of the picnic bench. We lay across the benches and looked up at the sky, describing what we saw in turn. We saw a squirrel jump from a neighboring tree into our field of view at the exact same time and we both gasped. There was a contrail against the cloudless sky. The trees don't yet have leaves, but they're just about to, so all the branches look bumpy and buddy and ready to pop.
At length, we finished our food (except for the oranges, which I meant to save for the return journey) and set out for the library again. We went in the front door. It's a tax workshop today, so local people were lined up indoors waiting to get help with their taxes. And elderly lady with longish white hair was describing a personal struggle as we passed, "I always go in with the best of intentions, but...." Vivian knows the layout of the library well, so she led the way to the children's section. She darted for the computer, but I suggested the trains instead, so while she played, I carefully chose six books from the surrounding shelves: four easy readers, one Bill Peet, and one Jan Brett. We checked out - and had our three-dollar fine lowered to two by the kindly librarian.
I had planned to sweeten the walk back with the two oranges, and it worked pretty well. Vivian ate an orange and a half, trip-trapping happily the entire time. But when she finished, we were only about one-third of the way home. I cut through a big open lot to try to shorten the trip. When we came out on Richmond Road, Vivian's diversion of choice became the assortment of new wild flowers in the yards we passed. She picked several, each from a different yard, then gave me one to put behind my ear.
I basically enjoy the 1.4-mile walk between our house and the library, except for crossing the strip mall / busy intersection part of the walk. Today we waited a full minute for the traffic to let us across Monticello. And when we crossed, a gust of wind blew Vivian's hat off her head and onto the street. There was enough time and visibility for us to go back and get it, but I always feel so exposed and vulnerable at that intersection. People are supposed to go 25, but they're always in the middle of an acceleration to forty when I see them.
Vivi didn't complain until we were almost in sight of our apartment building. She said, "I wish we drove." I reminded her how much fun most of the walk had been. To which she replied, "When we get home I'm going to rest my back. Can we put my flowers in the same jar with the cherry blossoms?" And then we crossed the street to our building and were home.
What a sweet day. I am so thankful to have this absolute leisure to move at Vivian's pace for big chunks of time. It makes me wonder why I haven't had the ability to relax more often. I admit having fought the slowness of the child's pace - not all the time, but some of it. And I've really missed out. I can see that on days like today, when I do take time to just be with Vivian.
Vivian and I ate at a leisurely pace, shedding our shoes and touching our socky feet together on top of the picnic bench. We lay across the benches and looked up at the sky, describing what we saw in turn. We saw a squirrel jump from a neighboring tree into our field of view at the exact same time and we both gasped. There was a contrail against the cloudless sky. The trees don't yet have leaves, but they're just about to, so all the branches look bumpy and buddy and ready to pop.
At length, we finished our food (except for the oranges, which I meant to save for the return journey) and set out for the library again. We went in the front door. It's a tax workshop today, so local people were lined up indoors waiting to get help with their taxes. And elderly lady with longish white hair was describing a personal struggle as we passed, "I always go in with the best of intentions, but...." Vivian knows the layout of the library well, so she led the way to the children's section. She darted for the computer, but I suggested the trains instead, so while she played, I carefully chose six books from the surrounding shelves: four easy readers, one Bill Peet, and one Jan Brett. We checked out - and had our three-dollar fine lowered to two by the kindly librarian.
I had planned to sweeten the walk back with the two oranges, and it worked pretty well. Vivian ate an orange and a half, trip-trapping happily the entire time. But when she finished, we were only about one-third of the way home. I cut through a big open lot to try to shorten the trip. When we came out on Richmond Road, Vivian's diversion of choice became the assortment of new wild flowers in the yards we passed. She picked several, each from a different yard, then gave me one to put behind my ear.
I basically enjoy the 1.4-mile walk between our house and the library, except for crossing the strip mall / busy intersection part of the walk. Today we waited a full minute for the traffic to let us across Monticello. And when we crossed, a gust of wind blew Vivian's hat off her head and onto the street. There was enough time and visibility for us to go back and get it, but I always feel so exposed and vulnerable at that intersection. People are supposed to go 25, but they're always in the middle of an acceleration to forty when I see them.
Vivi didn't complain until we were almost in sight of our apartment building. She said, "I wish we drove." I reminded her how much fun most of the walk had been. To which she replied, "When we get home I'm going to rest my back. Can we put my flowers in the same jar with the cherry blossoms?" And then we crossed the street to our building and were home.
What a sweet day. I am so thankful to have this absolute leisure to move at Vivian's pace for big chunks of time. It makes me wonder why I haven't had the ability to relax more often. I admit having fought the slowness of the child's pace - not all the time, but some of it. And I've really missed out. I can see that on days like today, when I do take time to just be with Vivian.
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