An Existential Crisis at Age 5.

Shortly after putting the girls to bed the other night, I heard Cici crying and calling for me. When I went upstairs and asked what was wrong, she said, “I don’t want to die.”

Uh oh. I know all kids start to think about these issues eventually. For me, I remember it coming on when the idea of THE END OF THE WORLD was introduced in first-grade Sunday school class. That concept succeeded in turning me into a jiggling pile of jelly at the thought of the cosmic forces at play in the universe, and of my own ultimate insignificance.

But having gone through it myself at about the same age, and even remembering the experience with uncharacteristic vividness, didn’t really prepare me for what to say. So I said, “Oh, honey, you don’t need to worry about that. You’re going to live for a long, long time yet.”

“I wish,” she went on in a surprising turn of thought, “I could turn into a cat so I could live forever.”

“Well, honey,” I said, “cats don’t live forever, you know. They get old and die just like people.”

Oddly, this seemed to reassure her. “They do?”

“Uh huh. In fact, people live a lot longer than most animals do. Cats, dogs, horses – none of them live as long as people do.”

Silence, then: “What . . . about . . . trees?”

Yikes. There wasn’t much fancy footwork I could do to scuttle away from that one, so I just said, “Well, trees do live longer than people, it’s true. They’re just . . . lucky, I guess? But you really don’t need to worry about this, Cici. Why, you’re only five years old. You could live another eighty, or ninety, or maybe even a hundred years. That’s a very long time. Right?”

She seemed to be considering this very seriously; then, slowly and thoughtfully, as if unraveling a great mystery, she said, “You know . . . bees live in trees, Dad.”

“Oh?”

“I guess that’s where they make the honey!”

“I guess it is, Cici.”

And she’s right, you know. It is.

Cutie-head Bed

For several weeks now, Ruby's preference for a bed is ... her bedroom floor. She likes to sleep on the floor with a mess of blankets and pillows, and seems to find it quite comfortable. The other night we went to check on the girls before going to bed ourselves and found Ruby sleeping not on the floor, but in the cat's bed. And here's the proof...

Tree Time

It's up! (And it came down once, but then we got a new tree stand and now everything seems to be staying in place.) (Also, the cat won't leave it alone.)

(Note: If you look very closely at the tree ornaments in the top photo - click on the image to enlarge - you'll see one featuring a picture of our five-year-old daughter around the time of her first Christmas. . . .)

Big, Fat and Juicy _______________

We're not entirely sure of the origin on this one, but lately Ruby has taken to calling things, "A big, fat and juicy BLANK." Examples,

"Mommy, I have a big, fat and juicy cough."

OR

"Can you get me a big, fat and juicy blanket?"

OR

"I'm putting on my big, fat and juicy boots."

We'll be sure to fill you in once we get to the bottom of it...

Houdini She Ain't.

Many of you know that Ruby came down with pneumonia this week, possibly after contact with some germs that were swirling around and impacting members of the K---- family during our recent holiday visit there. (Cecilia has been sick about a grand total of four times since she was born, and rarely with anything worse than a cold. Ruby, on the other hand, sometimes seems to think she's in training for some sort of Medical Emergency-Off at next year's State Fair.)

But after a visit to Urgent Care on Wednesday, she began antibiotic and nebulizer treatments and almost immediately rebounded to full speed. This includes the usual shenanigans at bedtime - lots of footsteps on the upper level after tuck-in time, multiple requests for essential sleeping prerequisites like shoes and bread, etc.

But last night's adventure took the cake. We had had some friends and relatives over for dinner, and Cici and Ruby were eventually put to bed. After a good deal of nonsense from both of them, they seemed finally to be settling down . . . and when we heard Ruby shout "Dad! I have to go potty!", it seemed safe enough to yell back, "Okay, honey, go ahead and go!" While Number Two is still something of a challenge for her - she usually goes and hides in an inconspicuous place when she has to go - Number One has been more or less mastered, and she doesn't need the least assistance from us anymore in successful negotiating most bathroom experiences.

Or so we thought. Ruby went into the bathroom and closed the door, and a very short time later we heard, "Dad! I can't get out!"

Dadam went up alone at first to check on things, but almost immediately after he had established that yes, it was true, she couldn't get out, the entire company assembled in the upstairs hallway outside the locked room like characters in a theatrical farce. The expected mayhem soon ensued. Cici, who as it turned out was not yet asleep, began wailing from offstage that Ruby would be stuck in the bathroom forever and would never be seen again. Momlissa and Dadam demonstrated their typically different approaches to crisis management, with Momlissa laughing to herself over the whole situation and speaking encouragingly to Ruby through the door, and Dadam screeching "I don't even know what the lock looks like!" and eventually needing to be ordered downstairs to grind his teeth where he wouldn't bother anyone else. The gallery provided many suggestions of helpful intent, if not always a practical nature, ranging from breaking the door down, to picking the lock with a tiny elbow wrench, to unscrewing the doorknob plate and thus getting the lock to magically disengage (no burglar ever thought of this one before, I'm sure), to calling in the county sheriff's office for a private consultation.

As for Ruby herself, despite her inability to grasp what was fundamentally required of her to actually unlock the door, she appeared to be delighted by her predicament, and except for excusing herself briefly to stand on the toilet and turn the sink on (and leave it on), responded with a uniformly positive attitude to all suggestions, usually shouting "Oh!" as if the solution to the problem had been suddenly and simply revealed to her, and she had been very silly not to see it herself in the first place. Here's an example of how it went:

MOMLISSA: Okay, Ruby, right underneath the doorknob there's a button. Do you see it?

RUBY: Yeah!

MOMLISSA: Can you put your hand on it, please?

RUBY: Okay!

MOMLISSA: Now, all you need to do to unlock the door is just twist it.

RUBY [as if understanding perfectly]: Oh!

MOMLISSA: Okay, twist it!

[RUBY's hand appears under the door and gropes the floor inside the hallway.]

Variations on this theme continued for some time. And, long story short, she got out. It was actually the suggestion of Auntie Landi that did it - we ultimately unscrewed the hinges of the door and took the whole thing off its frame. As she was released from captivity, Ruby laughed and smiled as if the experience had been specially designed to fulfill the recreational expectations of the American two-year-old and she not only had gotten her money's worth but would definitely recommend the attraction to all her friends. Cici, for all her initial concern and distress, had actually fallen asleep about five minutes into the entire ordeal, and would have to wait until this morning to find out how it all came out. The rest of the company retired downstairs for games and beverages.

And Ruby went back to bed, only calling for things about five more times before konking out once and for all.