Every night my three kids and I read together before bed. Usually, my 9 year old daughter is the one who reads aloud. She is a great reader and really throws herself into it, which makes this time very entertaining.
My 10 is usually rolling around on his bed, tossing mini toys at the 9 with the hopes of enraging her to the point where she throws the book down and threatens bodily harm, so at that point I usually make him take over.
Last night I was laying on the bottom bunk with my 5, but instead of listening like I normally do, I found my mind straying toward other topics.
Cat food. How do they make it? What does it taste like? And could I get Elle to eat it without knowing?
Bills, car repair, air in my tires; the usual grown-up junk. Stuff I Hate To Do.
My 5 noticed I seemed distant and poked me in the arm.
5: Momma, what is this thing? [pokes at mole on my arm]
Me: It's a panic button. Don't push it unless there is threat of a thermonuclear meltdown.
5: Does it hurt if I do this? [pinches my arm]
Me: No. But knock it off and listen to your sister.
5: Would it hurt if I bite it?
AND PROCEEDS TO BITE MY ARM.
I kind of yelped, told her NO! and scooted further away from her.
I think she felt bad, which was unfortunate because when she does something wrong, she feels like she has to fix it.
So I lay there and tried to refocus until she started tickling me.
Peeps, you may not know this, but I cannot stand to be tickled. It makes me want to jump out of my skin. I get all tingly and panicky and start to expel this frantic laugh/cry/scream in a really high-pitched voice that people misinterpret as merriment. It is anything but.
I am terrified that someone will use this against me for evil one day. I could never be an international spy because all the kidnappers would have to do is run a background check, talk to some neighbors and find out that the briefest hint of feeling under my arms will cause me to flip the eff out.
I managed to pry my 5 off of me, call it quits on the chapter book and shut the light off.
As I was leaving the room, my 9 called out to me.
9: Mom? If you really want her to listen while you read a book, you just have to sit on her. She'll cry a little, but then you can enjoy the story because you can actually HEAR IT.
Good to know.
My 10 is usually rolling around on his bed, tossing mini toys at the 9 with the hopes of enraging her to the point where she throws the book down and threatens bodily harm, so at that point I usually make him take over.
Last night I was laying on the bottom bunk with my 5, but instead of listening like I normally do, I found my mind straying toward other topics.
Cat food. How do they make it? What does it taste like? And could I get Elle to eat it without knowing?
Bills, car repair, air in my tires; the usual grown-up junk. Stuff I Hate To Do.
My 5 noticed I seemed distant and poked me in the arm.
5: Momma, what is this thing? [pokes at mole on my arm]
Me: It's a panic button. Don't push it unless there is threat of a thermonuclear meltdown.
5: Does it hurt if I do this? [pinches my arm]
Me: No. But knock it off and listen to your sister.
5: Would it hurt if I bite it?
AND PROCEEDS TO BITE MY ARM.
I kind of yelped, told her NO! and scooted further away from her.
I think she felt bad, which was unfortunate because when she does something wrong, she feels like she has to fix it.
So I lay there and tried to refocus until she started tickling me.
Peeps, you may not know this, but I cannot stand to be tickled. It makes me want to jump out of my skin. I get all tingly and panicky and start to expel this frantic laugh/cry/scream in a really high-pitched voice that people misinterpret as merriment. It is anything but.
I am terrified that someone will use this against me for evil one day. I could never be an international spy because all the kidnappers would have to do is run a background check, talk to some neighbors and find out that the briefest hint of feeling under my arms will cause me to flip the eff out.
I managed to pry my 5 off of me, call it quits on the chapter book and shut the light off.
As I was leaving the room, my 9 called out to me.
9: Mom? If you really want her to listen while you read a book, you just have to sit on her. She'll cry a little, but then you can enjoy the story because you can actually HEAR IT.
Good to know.
2 comments:
I have the sudden urge to stick a finger in your armpit.
Go ahead. I dare you.
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