Saturday, August 16, 2008

The bluest eye

A man helping us in a store yesterday commented on E's beautiful eyes and asked her if she knew what color they were. Black! she said, without hesitation. He looked at me quizzically but I didn't bother to dissuade her. This week she tells us her eyes are black. She points to the pupils watching her in the mirror and says see, Mommy? Black! Try explaining to her that her eyes should be described as blue, because convention dictates applying the color of the iris, not the pupil, and then she insists her eyes are brown. Because brown is her favorite color, if you ask her. (Even though it isn't -- it's purple. She selects everything in purple when purple is an option. But ask her, and she'll say that it's brown.) She'll also tell me that my eyes are brown, and so are Daddy's and so are L's, when in fact we're a unified blue-eyed bunch.

August 3, 2008

E's eyes, perhaps black, perhaps brown, but DEFINITELY NOT blue.

Sometimes she'll tell us that she is brown. As in, Brown, the embodiment. Sometimes she's Purple and Brown. Until a few months ago we sang a rhyme with her name that ended in the affectation of Bumblebee. She began changing the song so that she was called Doggie, even though it didn't have the same meter that Bumblebee did. Sometimes she's PurpleBrownDoggie. And sometimes she's Look! I'm a dinosaur! ROARR!!! For a short while whenever I called her Big Girl, not long after her sister was born and I was trying to help her find her way in the new dynamic, she kept correcting Big Girl to Big Bird. And yesterday she came home from school and informed me that she's now Tweety Bird. But then she got home, found her dinosaur tail, donned it and ROARRRRED.

L is a dinosaur these days, too. She's entered her pterodactyl phase. She's displaying a passionate love of exploding protracted full-volume shrieks. And E has found a perverse pleasure in echoing her. She gets in her baby sister's face and emanates the most high-pitched torturous assault on my sanity. Then L shrieks again, delighted to have a dueling partner. And E responds. And they only stop when their giggles inhibit their ability to strain their vocal cords. Every time they start I ponder Googling whether parents display higher incidence of early-onset hearing loss than non-parents. And then I think I don't really want to know.

I haven't been feeling too great today, nothing critical, just a stomach bug. But I've had to curtail some of the rambunctiousness I usually put into wearing these girls out on a weekend day wherein we haven't paid somebody else to wear them out. After E asked me to flip her upside down and up onto my shoulder, a pretty regular request for her, I had to decline today. She asked why and I said I don't feel so nice today. She questioned me and I said that my belly didn't feel nice. She pulled up my shirt, kissed my belly button and said, Now your feelings will be better, Mommy. And later, comforting me again, see, Mommy? I'm the Mommy, Mommy!

Maybe she is a dinosaur. I'm convinced the younger one is. Maybe she's not quite a Mommy, exactly, but she was very loving and maternal. Her eyes are certainly black just as much as they are blue, so why not brown, too. Maybe reality is just a limiting set of labels applied by adults who've forgotten how to see.

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