Clomp, Clomp, Clomp
I was getting ready for church in my bathroom. Clomp, Clomp, Clomp come little tennis shoes in contact with hardwood flooring, carrying my 2 year old as fast as they could. When he arrived in my presence he simply questioned “Bella blankie?”. I pointed to the pink chenille lazily left on our bedroom floor. He picked it up and dutifully Clomp, Clomp, Clomped back to his big sister across the house.
About 30 seconds later… Clomp, Clomp, Clomp. He returned and I stared into his big brown eyes as he declared “Bella red juice”, explaining in his cryptic language the desire of his sister. I let him know that she would have to wait a few minutes because I was busy. He pivoted in retreat then Clomp, Clomp, Clomp back to deliver the message.
About 30 seconds later… Clomp, Clomp, Clomp. A bit of distress on his face as he said “I fell”, pointing to his unscathed knees. Mommy: “You fell?” Abe: “Uh hun.” Mommy: “I’m so sorry”, then a quick kiss. Then Clomp, Clomp, Clomp back to the family room.
I heard him report to Arabella “I told her”. The feminine wailing that followed gave me a clue that his message may have been incorrect in regards to who actually incurred the injury. Her cry was not one of pain, but of despair in the face of an unresponsive mother. I smiled but chose to ignore her drama.
About 1 minute later… Clomp, Clomp, Clomp. “Bella wants red juice”. Seriously?! That girl had better take advantage of this super power she possesses now. I have a sneaky feeling it’s not going to last long.