Dick got mad on Saturday because “now Sally yells at me too.” I don’t know about you (well, I do know you and you, but not you, yet), but it’s great that whenever Dick loses all patience (not a common occurrence, thankfully), I somehow, digging deep, find just enough to talk him and the kid down, and soon peace reigns again.
Until I completely lose it (quite common), and Dick takes over. Though it is annoying when he gets mad at me for swearing in front of the kids. Doesn’t he know that I know it’s bad? Duh.
Sally also yells at her sister sometimes. Usually not Spot; even Sally realizes that Spot is guileless and innocent. But Susan, well, she’s an imp. She messes up the OCD piles of books and babies and barbies that Sally has constructed. She leaves her clothes all over the floor, and then she starts with the licking and kicking and pulling hair, usually at bedtime. And Sally, my sweet firstborn who is twice as old and twice as tall, runs to mom to complain. Hit her back, I say. But for once I’m glad to not be obeyed.
My sister and I shared the double pineapple bed, named for the pineapple bedknobs (as in Bedknobs and Broomsticks) when we were young. I remember good times like when we gathered all the extra quilts in the house and piled them on the bed. Don’t remember if that was inspired by The Princess and the Pea or not, but I do remember the covers were so heavy. We felt like royalty.
But mostly I remember lying there and kicking her, and kicking and kicking and kicking. She didn’t remember this a couple weeks ago. She does remember the time I made her keep quiet all night about her arm being hurt after we were jumping off the bunkbed. It was broken, of course.
Sally and Susan share a room, but not a bed. Sally has taken to arranging the furniture lately. She makes signs: My Library, Guest Bed (in the closet), and Tramplen (her bed — notice she didn’t ask us how to spell that one). And Susan torments her something fierce at bedtime while we sit in the living room and pretend horrific screamings aren’t happpening in the back.
When we finally toddle off to bed after gluttonous viewing of old Seinfeld re-runs, we find them, like Ginger and the new kitten, together. Because a cardboard box, or a toddler bed that’s really too small for either of them, is just not as good without your favorite sister.
Thanks to Angela in NYC for sending this book to Sally before Susan’s arrival. It’s a bit subtle (I mean for a preschooler), but now it’s Susan’s favorite book, even though it obviously hasn’t stopped her from finding somewhere to sharpen her claws.