As it gets warmer Eva grows more insistent on being outside. That's not a real problem (though she can't go out as much as she'd like), except that it's becoming difficult to get her into the car. Every time we leave home she expects to start running around the yard, and she rebels noisily when we try to fit her into the car. Eva's gained enough strength, enough body control, and enough twistiness that she can put up a pretty effective fight when she doesn't want to be placed in something like a safety seat or a shopping cart. This afternoon at the supermarket it took concerted work by Kate and me to push the little imp into the cart seat. And she didn't go quietly, I can assure you that.
But an event the other day, while Kate was at work, got me to thinking about one of my less proud moments from my own early childhood. See, Eva and I were heading home from the park--it had been a nice morning and she ran all over the place--and I stopped in at the store to pick up a few odds and ends. The store had special kids' carts with built-in cars in front, so the child could sit in a seat (buckled, of course) facing forward and with a small steering wheel to play with while the adult pushes the cart around.
Several months ago Kate and I put Eva in one of these, and the little girl flipped out because (we surmised) she couldn't see us. Eva needed some hard-core reassurance after that one, so we abandoned the thought of using them until last weekend, when Kate tried again. This time Eva reacted with glee, screaming and yelping and laughing the whole time. The only moment she fell silent was when I rammed a display case in a full head-on collision. (In my defense, those plastic mock cars stick out a good foot or so beyond the cart, and it's easy to forget how far out they are. It's like not knowing where the bumpers and corners on your own car are, I realize, but this was my first time handling one of those things! Anyway...) So Eva loved the car-styled cart the second time around.
So this Tuesday I stuck her in one, did my bit of shopping, and headed toward the cashiers. I guess the belt was kind of loose, because Eva was all over the cab of the car, twisting around backwards, standing up, generally behaving imprudently. I figured we were nearly done so I let it go. We went through the line, I paid for my food, and out to the car we went.
When I leaned over to remove Eva from the front of the cart, I saw a Snickers bar in her hands.
Plainly she'd reached out and grabbed one while waiting in the cashier line, and nobody had noticed. Who looks down for a shoplifting baby? Plus, the cashier at that counter couldn't see so far down over the edge of the counter anyway, so unless someone in front saw the baby with the candy, it would be the perfect crime. And the perfect crime it was.
At first I was morally indignant that Eva would do such a thing, then I remembered that she's a baby and she grabs everything that's not fastened down. Then I thought that I should return the candy bar, since it was stolen. Then I thought that it would be a hassle to bring the baby and the candy bar back in, and I was eager to get home after spending most of the morning out. Then I thought that I hadn't had a Snickers bar in a long, long time. So I kept it.
Eva made no protest when I took it from her hands, set her in the carseat, and buckled her in. I tossed the Snickers bar onto the front seat, put my bag of groceries in the rear seat, and got in. When I opened the wrapper, however, is when Eva piped up. And pipe up she did. That little thief yelled and cried and screamed for a good five minutes as I drove home, eating the candy bar in resentful silence. Not only did I have the crime of eating a shoplifted candy bar on my conscience (and Eva to blame for it), but she had to make me pay even further by screaming because I'd stolen it from her.
(And of course, I'll be checking her hands every time through that she sits in one of those forward-facing carts from now on, you can believe that.)
When I was a twerp, maybe three or four (I don't recall exactly, but I was sitting in a forward-facing booster in the middle of the back seat), I'd get hauled along to the supermarket once or
twice a week, and I had to tolerate the interminable boredom. (Only clothes shopping for Lisa and Julie was worse.) Only this time was different. Around then--early to mid-70's--there was a brand of gum called Fruit Stripe or something like that, with a multicolored zebra on the packet.
I dug the colors and I adored anything sweet, so I made up my mind to get me some of that gum. Only I knew Mom would never approve--her list of legal sugary foods for me was very, VERY short, and furthermore candy was a useless luxury--so I just swiped it. And like Eva, I got away clean, right out to the car with nobody noticing. Only I wasn't a baby innocently grabbing things, I was a theiving little boy with a plan, albeit a bad one.
See, I'd gotten out of the store easily, but the next part of my plan was pretty much off the charts for stupidity. I was too impatient to wait until I got home to start eating the gum, so I started eating it right in the car, in my booster chair, in the middle of the back seat. Only I thought I'd be furtive about it, so I leaned way over to one side and chewed while looking down and to the rear.
Of course my mother noticed this in about five seconds, pulled over and extracted the truth from me. That done, we turned around and drove back, walked into to the store again, and she made me return the pack of gum in person to the store manager and apologize for stealing it.
My mother knew how to punish effectively, though it doesn't seem to have stuck into adulthood.
Today (no more stealing) we went to the park again, and it was an even warmer day. Eva did me proud, and put her education from a recent rainy day to work. She stomped right through four puddles in the dirt parking lot and soaked her shoes, socks and the lower part of her pants. Then we walked over to the sand-filled playground with its jungle gyms and swings. In between a few bouts on the swings, and a couple of trips down the slide, Eva just rolled around in the sand, and tossed handfuls up in the air, all over herself.
I was extremely proud. That's the child of a Dartmouth man, develping a real appreciation for mother earth.
But an event the other day, while Kate was at work, got me to thinking about one of my less proud moments from my own early childhood. See, Eva and I were heading home from the park--it had been a nice morning and she ran all over the place--and I stopped in at the store to pick up a few odds and ends. The store had special kids' carts with built-in cars in front, so the child could sit in a seat (buckled, of course) facing forward and with a small steering wheel to play with while the adult pushes the cart around.
Several months ago Kate and I put Eva in one of these, and the little girl flipped out because (we surmised) she couldn't see us. Eva needed some hard-core reassurance after that one, so we abandoned the thought of using them until last weekend, when Kate tried again. This time Eva reacted with glee, screaming and yelping and laughing the whole time. The only moment she fell silent was when I rammed a display case in a full head-on collision. (In my defense, those plastic mock cars stick out a good foot or so beyond the cart, and it's easy to forget how far out they are. It's like not knowing where the bumpers and corners on your own car are, I realize, but this was my first time handling one of those things! Anyway...) So Eva loved the car-styled cart the second time around.
So this Tuesday I stuck her in one, did my bit of shopping, and headed toward the cashiers. I guess the belt was kind of loose, because Eva was all over the cab of the car, twisting around backwards, standing up, generally behaving imprudently. I figured we were nearly done so I let it go. We went through the line, I paid for my food, and out to the car we went.
When I leaned over to remove Eva from the front of the cart, I saw a Snickers bar in her hands.
Plainly she'd reached out and grabbed one while waiting in the cashier line, and nobody had noticed. Who looks down for a shoplifting baby? Plus, the cashier at that counter couldn't see so far down over the edge of the counter anyway, so unless someone in front saw the baby with the candy, it would be the perfect crime. And the perfect crime it was.
At first I was morally indignant that Eva would do such a thing, then I remembered that she's a baby and she grabs everything that's not fastened down. Then I thought that I should return the candy bar, since it was stolen. Then I thought that it would be a hassle to bring the baby and the candy bar back in, and I was eager to get home after spending most of the morning out. Then I thought that I hadn't had a Snickers bar in a long, long time. So I kept it.
Eva made no protest when I took it from her hands, set her in the carseat, and buckled her in. I tossed the Snickers bar onto the front seat, put my bag of groceries in the rear seat, and got in. When I opened the wrapper, however, is when Eva piped up. And pipe up she did. That little thief yelled and cried and screamed for a good five minutes as I drove home, eating the candy bar in resentful silence. Not only did I have the crime of eating a shoplifted candy bar on my conscience (and Eva to blame for it), but she had to make me pay even further by screaming because I'd stolen it from her.
(And of course, I'll be checking her hands every time through that she sits in one of those forward-facing carts from now on, you can believe that.)
When I was a twerp, maybe three or four (I don't recall exactly, but I was sitting in a forward-facing booster in the middle of the back seat), I'd get hauled along to the supermarket once or
twice a week, and I had to tolerate the interminable boredom. (Only clothes shopping for Lisa and Julie was worse.) Only this time was different. Around then--early to mid-70's--there was a brand of gum called Fruit Stripe or something like that, with a multicolored zebra on the packet.I dug the colors and I adored anything sweet, so I made up my mind to get me some of that gum. Only I knew Mom would never approve--her list of legal sugary foods for me was very, VERY short, and furthermore candy was a useless luxury--so I just swiped it. And like Eva, I got away clean, right out to the car with nobody noticing. Only I wasn't a baby innocently grabbing things, I was a theiving little boy with a plan, albeit a bad one.
See, I'd gotten out of the store easily, but the next part of my plan was pretty much off the charts for stupidity. I was too impatient to wait until I got home to start eating the gum, so I started eating it right in the car, in my booster chair, in the middle of the back seat. Only I thought I'd be furtive about it, so I leaned way over to one side and chewed while looking down and to the rear.
Of course my mother noticed this in about five seconds, pulled over and extracted the truth from me. That done, we turned around and drove back, walked into to the store again, and she made me return the pack of gum in person to the store manager and apologize for stealing it.
My mother knew how to punish effectively, though it doesn't seem to have stuck into adulthood.
Today (no more stealing) we went to the park again, and it was an even warmer day. Eva did me proud, and put her education from a recent rainy day to work. She stomped right through four puddles in the dirt parking lot and soaked her shoes, socks and the lower part of her pants. Then we walked over to the sand-filled playground with its jungle gyms and swings. In between a few bouts on the swings, and a couple of trips down the slide, Eva just rolled around in the sand, and tossed handfuls up in the air, all over herself.
I was extremely proud. That's the child of a Dartmouth man, develping a real appreciation for mother earth.
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