Saturday, September 17, 2011
I knew it couldn't last.
Sure enough, I'd no sooner put on my jeans when the shrieking began. It was laughing at first, as A was sitting on Z's back. "Don't worry, Mom. It doesn't hurt," Z reassured me.
But my shirt was scarcely over my head before the real screams started. A had clambered over her sister and was dangling one of Z's books over the side of the bed, threatening to drop it. I warned. I counted. A stared me down. And threw the book.
So I put her in her own room and shut the door. After letting her howl for a few minutes and then cuddling her as she continued to cry, I asked her to show me how she was feeling in her book "How are You Peeling: Foods With Moods." She pointed to the sad, guilty looking vegetables with the most plaintive expressions. "Would you like to write Z a note? Tell her you're sorry?"
A nodded. She dictated the following note, which I transcribed and she signed and hand-delivered:
I'm sorry that I accidentally dropped one book. I'm sorry I pulled your hair. I'm sorry that I almost sat on your head. Thank you for playing with me on your bed. I'm sorry that I did all those things."
And to her credit, this is how Z responded: "It's OK. Just don't do it again. P.S. I might by a donut for you."
Not sure what makes me prouder. My children's capacity for apology and forgiveness or Z's correct use of apostrophe on it's? (It is cut off on the photo, but so very there.)