The Crocodile Without The Alligator

We were watching The Rugrats Go Wild on DVD a couple of weeks ago (thank you, A.Bam & K.Pooch!) and I heard Tommy refer to the crocodile as a "croco-gator." It made me laugh to discover that Gab's vocabulary's not exactly unique. Although her term for the crocodile &/or alligator is slightly varied: "croco-dator." Which makes me wonder: If you do not introduce the word Alligator to a child and instead limit his knowledge of carnivorous aquatic reptiles to the Crocodile, what would he call it? How would he say its name?

That's Why

At first blush, Gab seems to have her Cause & Effect all confused but she actually has it all figured out. To illustrate:

Gab: Ask me why I am licking my lips like this, Papa.
Papa: Why?
Gab: That's why I am hungry.

Gab: I can wear my socks all by my own, Mama.
Mama: That's good.
Gab: That's why I'm a big girl now.

Gab: Why is the little boy crying? That's why he is missing his mama?

I have to remind myself that her 'that's why' means 'because' when she prompts me for an explanation or I end up getting confused and eventually, irritated.

Gab: The dog is sticking out his tongue that's why...?

The right reply would be: 'Because he feels hot. That's his way of cooling off.' But in my mind I explore the possible answers: That's why there's sand on his tongue? That's why his tongue is all dried up? And I end up saying: 'What do mean that's why? He's sticking out his tongue, that's that. It's called panting.'

If she remembers your explanation from before, she'll supply the answer herself (because obviously her mother can't).

Gab: He's sticking out his tongue that's why he feels hot, Mama. That's his way of cooling off. That's why he doesn't sweat like we do, Mama. Right? Right, Mama?

Mama (realizing her mistake) : Oh... Right.

When she was younger, Gab used the term 'because' in its proper context. She couldn't even quite pronounce it yet and ended up saying 'e-cuz'.

Mama: Why aren't you sleeping yet?
Gab: E-cuz I am still playing with my Papa.

This past year though, as she started to utilize the dreaded three-letter word more often, she must have drawn the conclusion that 'that's why' made better sense than 'because' in answering the 'why' question. Consider this.

Q: Why is the cat meowing?
A: She is hungry, that's why.

Gab's way of putting it:

Q: Why is the cat meowing?
A: That's why she is hungry.

That's why. So now you know.

Acting Like A Child

You know what amazes me most about very young children? They are totally incapable of holding a grudge.

There is this one time when Gab accidentally knocked out her Papa's Coke at a restaurant and most of it spilled onto my jeans and shoes. I was so pissed, I dragged her by the arm, marched her into the restroom and alternately hissed and shouted at her when she chose to be cheery & playful while I washed her sticky hands in the sink. Back at our table, I lost it again (yes, I was in pretty foul mood that day) when she wouldn't swallow her spaghetti because, heaven forbid, there was a teeny tiny bit of meat with it. As she was spitting out the mouthful into the tissue I was holding out to her, strands of spaghetti fell on her jeans leaving streaks of red. Back to the restroom we marched where I dabbed at the stain with wet tissue, purposely dabbing a bit too hard. Even after my despicable treatment of her for such small accidents, she still burst out of the restroom singing happily to herself. When her father admonished her to apologize (again) to me and to give me a hug, she obediently did so completely unaware of how unjustly I've just treated her.

Have you ever had one of those moments when you know you are being a total jerk but you can't help yourself anyway? With Gab, I get a lot of those moments. A lot. And bless her forgiving, amnesiac, kind, little big heart because she never keeps tab. Like an adult would.

So I think the line 'acting like a child' shouldn't always be used in a negative context. Because little children have many fine qualities we could all emulate. Maybe it would do us good to act like children in certain situations, like Gab in the story above. So quick to forget, there's nothing to forgive.

Children ought to be saying to one another: 'Stop acting like an adult' which would be tantamount to saying: Stop being an ***hole. Now, that would be more accurate.

Six Kittens

It hasn’t been that long since I swore that our household would never have anything to do with furry creatures again, no matter how cute. Now we have six kittens—and a big grumpy mama cat—in the back of the house. Of course it’s not like we had a choice on the matter. The mama cat chose Gab’s toddler bike carrier still mounted on her Papa’s mountain bike as her personal LDR (Labor and Delivery Room). I guess it looked ideal because it was relatively high up from the ground and had a black garbage bag as cover. Her kittens kept on falling off their nest though and she had to carry them back up every time. So I laid some layers of old newspapers on the floor under our mountain bikes and now that’s where the mama cat and her six kittens are housed.

Since they are more or less our responsibility now, we give food and milk to the nursing mom. (Do I need to explain how I feel for her? As a mother, I nursed only one baby; she has to nurse six noisy, demanding kittens!) She begrudgingly accepts our generosity under very suspicious, very wary eyes. She’s a stray cat and we figure she doesn’t associate human beings with kindness.

Now Gab’s all pumped up with excitement and curiosity. Every day when she comes home from school, she would drag a chair to the kitchen back door and peer through the screen at the kittens. She is not allowed to go any nearer. First, there’s the issue of allergies. Second, fleas. Third, the mama cat’s dagger looks and growls are sufficient warning to stay away.

Gab insists that I interpret the mama cat’s surly meow-ing every time.

Meow.
‘What is she saying, Mama?’
‘She says I’m hungry.’

Meow.
‘What is she saying now, Mama?’
‘She’s saying Why are you staring at me and my kittens?’

Meow.
‘What did she just say, Mama?’
‘She said Leave me alone.’

Gab loves singing to the kittens and her song goes:

Oliver, don’t be scared
Although there’s no one there
Keep your dream alive
’Cause dreaming is still how the strong survives
Once upon a time
In New York City.

It’s a song from the Disney cartoons, Oliver & Company. It’s a rather lame adaptation of Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist. In the cartoons version, Oliver is an orange orphan cat in Manhattan. And Dodger is a street-smart stray dog. Gab loves to sing Dodger’s song too:

Why should I worry?
Why should I care?
I may not have a dime
But I have street savoir faire.

It makes me laugh to think that not too long ago, Gab would sing loudly to stray cats from our upstairs bedroom window. “I was just shooing the cats away,” she’d explain when asked why she was doing that. Her song was a praise song too: Father, Heal Our Land.

Now she sings to them for a completely different reason although in the exact, same fashion—at the top of her voice.

Crazy kid.

This morning I asked her what names she wanted to give the kittens.She quickly answered, “Oliver!” I told her that they can’t all be named Oliver. There are six of them. And how about the girl kittens? She’s stumped on this and insists that I name them instead. Frankly, I don’t want to give them names because doing that would be like giving them the final stamp of approval for permanent residence. And I would rather treat them like… well, like refugees seeking temporary asylum.

But their being with us now is not without purpose. They help quench Gab’s eternal longing for a furry, lovable pet.

The Lost Art

Gabrielle can write her full name now -- all by her own, as she would put it. Her Papa taught her a nifty little song to help her remember all 19 characters. A tune inspired by The Mickey Mouse Club song.

So she sings the letters of her first name this way:

"G-A-B. R-I-E. L-L-E. Gabrielle."

And the letters of her last name this way:

"E-C-H. E-V-A. R-R-I then A."

When she gets stuck in the middle of writing her last name: e.g. E-c-h-e-v -- all she does is sing her song to guide her through the rest of the spelling.

Still there are times when I wish we gave her a really short first name like Amy or Pam or Kay. Just for the ease of writing it, you understand, especially since Gab belongs to the computer-savvy-at-two generation and would rather type her name on a keyboard than write it down on paper. I believe we are not alone in this situation as I recently read a magazine article lamenting 'the lost art of handwriting' amongst today's school children.

Yeah. Tell me about it.

Gab has no problem with homework until we get to the part where she has to do some writing exercises. Suddenly, she'd find it nearly impossible to sit up straight at her desk, like some invisible hand had suddenly deboned her or robbed her of her very life force -- she would slump, her shoulders would droop and her hands holding the pencil would go limp & lifeless. Strange sounds would emanate from her lips, closely resembling whining. Painstakingly, she would start writing one letter or number after another all the while maintaining that spiritless pose -- making it clear to you that this is excruciatingly difficult for her. As soon as you announce: 'all right, you're all done for today', she would drop her depressed-geriatric act in a wink and spring back to being her normal peppy self.

When I tell her father this, he'd comment that Gab would make a great stage actor someday. Maybe. But until then, I am no big fan of hers.