Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Not a lie--just a creative re-imagining of reality!

I hate lying to Little Miss Kickboxer.

But seriously, what other choice does a mom have when a three-year-old has been steadfastly refusing to give up her yucky, yellowed, bacteria-laden and almost unsterilizeable night plug?

Yes, yes, I know:  You're supposed to take them away from them at 1 or 2 years of age, when they get started on potty training, in order to mark the big-kid change in their lives.  But puh-leeze, not all kids are made the same; not all boys go to bed with their favorite plush truck, and not all girls coddle their favorite doll.  In fact, Little Miss Kickboxer does neither; instead, like Linus, she drags her favorite blanket and her super-soft plush moose named Mookie everywhere.  Well, those two and her binkie.

Which went missing this morning, in the early morning hours, from underneath Mookie's butt, where it had fallen during the night.  Somehow (*cough cough*), it went missing into the deepest depths of the medicine shelf where it won't see the light of day again until our angelchild enters middle school--kind of like the toenail fungus cream we've had there since ... but I digress.

So, this morning, a sleepy, crazy-clownhaired little girl toddled into the kitchen where I was preparing her breakfast eggs and asked "Where is binkie?  I can't find binkie, mommy!", and I--SHAME ON ME!--laughed it away, saying "Binkie probably fell behind the bed."  Then I walked casually into her bedroom and looked:  Behind her bed, behind all the plush animals, under the pillow, under the bed, under the big pile of books.  Nothing.

She stood there, lower lip quivering, with tears in her eyes:  "Binkie fly away!"

You see, ever since her third birthday, we had looked at that thing every evening, noted its increasing lack of viscosity and yellowing.  It looked somehow like it was maturing, so why not align it with the caterpillar turning into a butterfly or an egg giving way to a bird?  The binkie story was born!  It goes like this:  When a kid turns three, the binkie starts changing--it starts getting yellow and harder and then, one night, it will grow wings and fly away to a little baby that was just born.

You're welcome.  Feel free to modify as needed.

There was much hugging this morning, and much cuddling, but the heartbreaking sobs didn't happen yet.  Those, I am sure, will come this evening, which is when we may have to color a binkie picture or tell the binkie story as it evolves.

It really isn't lying, I think.  It's a creative expansion of an evolving reality.  Which is what I will experience after Little Miss Kickboxer's wailing will rob me of my of course completely undeserved sleep for the next three-plus nights.