The World According to Rena

It’s just another one of those things, an example of how a child’s mind works and how their minds simply function differently from ours.

My 4 year-old daughter has been into watching old Bugs Bunny cartoons. I think it’s pretty cool actually how she digs the retro stuff that I grew up on. Anyway one of her favourite character is Sylvester the cat. However, she and I had a bit of a disagreement on his identity the other day.

You see, she had seen numerous sketches of that pesky black and white kitty trying to get the Tweety bird. She knew that was Sylvester. Pretty straightforward. However, if you are around my age range and remember those cartoons, Sylvester also appears in a number of sketches with his son and they are being tormented by a giant mouse which is actually a young kangaroo. Well, in those sketches, Sylvester is continually referred to as ‘Father’ by his young son.

When I tried to talk to Sloane about Sylvester and his son and the kangaroo/mouse, she would have nothing to do with it. We ended up arguing back and forth (have you ever argued with a 4 year-old?). Sloane would keep insisting, “It’s not Sylvester. It’s Father!” I mean, she is correct in a way. But  those sketches are just portraying Sylvester the cat as the father in those particular sketches. Good lord, can’t you see that child???

I am a little sensitive and hyper-aware about my 4 year-old daughter’s behaviour on the playground. She can be a bit anti-social (i.e. she sticks to herself) and since I’m a social person I always try to encourage her to make friends in the park or at least say ‘hi’ to other children. Well, the other day I got a lesson from my offspring about limits and not necessarily doing what you’re told (and how it can be a good thing).

The family was at the park across the street the other evening. Tai was mucking about by the sewer drain (of course) and Sloane was jumping around pretending she was a cat or something. I noticed a girl slightly older walking around the park and she had 2 little lackeys (younger girls) obediently following her around. The little ring-leader approached my daughter and asked what her name was. Sloane answered (I was surprised) and when the other girl extended her hand, Sloane actually took it (which surprised me even more).

I watched the girls’ backs as they walked away from us across the park. There went my little girl suddenly looking like lackey number three. But just as they approached the far fence I saw Sloane drop her hand and turn around and bolt back towards her parents sitting on a park bench. When she was back near us she resumed her solo, parallel play near her brother but didn’t engage us. She was back in her comfort zone and happy with her decision and no need to discuss it with her mom or dad.

Very interesting. My daughter is not a leader (I already knew that) but now I know she is definitely not a follower either (which is just fine with me). No, she’s independent and confident with herself and just a lovely weirdo. Correction, she’s MY lovely weirdo.

Sloane, don’t ever change….

I was picking my 4 year-old up from daycare the other day. As I was strapping her into her car seat and waving good-by to Carol (our daycare provider), Carol’s daughter pulled up in her car and started chatting with her mom through her rolled-down window. I casually watched the exchange and then saw the daughter hand her mother a Starbuck’s latte (or some kind of drink). How very sweet.

I turned to Sloane and remarked how nice that was. “Do you think you’ll ever bring Mommy coffee one day?” I asked her. She answered no.

Oh. Not the answer I was hoping for. “Well, how about a hot chocolate? Or a tea? Will you bring one of those for Mommy one day?” Again, she answered no.

Sigh. Oh well, what do I expect from a 4 year-old when I ask her these hypothetical, conceptual questions. Then Sloane piped up, “Mommy, I want to bring you love instead!” Lovely. I can sip on that for the rest of my life….

You would think that I would learn by now, but I’m always amazed at what my 4 year-old daughter retains based on what she sees and hears. I know I was playing Cyndi Lauper’s greatest hits in the car, and while I’m driving up front it’s easy to forget that there are 2 young children strapped into their car seats behind me.

Well, the other day (it was close to Mother’s Day) I was doing something with Sloane (preparing her cereal and milk for breakfast perhaps) and she looked at me and started to sing, “Time After Time.” I froze.

To hear that sweet, sweet, angelic, baby-girl voice serenading me at the breakfast table, during such an otherwise ordinary moment in my day, it gave me chills. “If you’re lost you can look and you will find me/Time after time/If you fall I will catch you, I will be waiting/Time after time.” And I had no idea she knew the lyrics? And to hear it like that, so unprompted and un-coached and spontaneous. It was so natural and genuine.

I’m getting shivers as I write this while recalling that moment. I replay that moment over and over in my head these days. It’s magical. And every bit of stress or anxiety that I have in my mind melts away. It’s the best kind of therapy that money can’t buy.

The other day the man and I were watching TV with our little 4 year-old daughter. There was a commercial featuring “I Can Be Anything Barbie”, and we watched quietly as Barbie was portrayed as a veterinarian, then a scientist, then something else supposedly impressive and respectful.

I turned to Sloane and asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up. She paused, put her finger up to her smiling lips as if deep in thought, and said a long, drawn-out “hmmmmmmm.” Then she grinned even more and answered, “A tomato!”

Wow. Really? Wow. That’s what you came up with, my dear? You want to be a tomato. Robin’s response was, “Good answer, Sloane. Good answer.”

Yeah, I suppose for a 4 year-old that’s an answer that I can live with.

I was reading a book to my 4 year-old the other day. It was a book that she enjoyed when she was younger. It’s all about colours.

At the end, I asked her what her favourite colour was. While she contemplated this very important question, I told her that I liked blue, and Daddy liked brown. And what about you? Purple? Pink?

No, “Rainbow !” she proudly and adamantly shouted out. Yes, rainbow was indeed in there, the last ‘colour’ of the book. My child loves the rainbow. Ah, I should just make her the poster child for PFLAG already….