Tiny Conversations – Proving a point!

There was never a dull day when the three girls were little. This conversation took place when the youngest was two years old. I loved her confidence and the argument she presented to prove her case! I’m glad I had it recorded. So here’s one more tiny conversation from my journals.

Baby Z: “Look, Dadi, my socky!”

“That’s a glove, baby.”

Baby Z: “No! Look at me.”

She was on the floor pulling the glove on her foot. I was in ‘teacher’ mode and hastened to correct her.

“Gloves go on the hands sweetie. Socks go on the feet.”

Baby Z: “See! It’s not glove… I putting foot in it. It is sock Dadi!” She looked up at me to see if I got it.

I was about to extend the ‘class’ but decided against it. I didn’t argue with that. 😀 😛 I had just told her that socks go on feet! Her little two-year-old mind had countered that to prove her point! She knew quite well that gloves and hands go together and socks go on feet.

“Hello ‘Chicken Licken!'” I said, laughing.

She looked puzzled. Chicken Licken?! That wasn’t her name!

Well, meet our little chicken, and no the sky isn’t falling… just me rolling with laughter. She had won the argument and made her point clear.

Tiny Conversations – Does he miss me?

Some years ago, when Aly, the eldest of my grandkids was about two and a half years old, on a video call she asked me about her grandpa.

Aly – Dadi, do I have a grandpa?

“Yes, you do?”

Aly – Where is he then?

“He’s not here now,” I said, wondering if she had already learned that he had died long ago.

Aly – I know, she said, with wisdom beyond her years shining from her eyes.

“So you know he isn’t here with us, and you know why, yes?”

Aly – Yes, he is in heaven.

“Yes, sweetie. Your grandpa is in heaven.” I was relieved.

Aly – Does he know about me?

“I’m sure he does.”

Aly – Can he see me?

“I believe he can whenever he peeks through the clouds.”

Aly – (Beaming a bright smile) Does he love me?

“Oh, my dear, you cannot imagine how much he loves you. He adores you.”

Aly – (She’s glowing by now) Dadi, does he miss me?

I choked on my words as tears threatened to spill out and said, “Trust me sweetie, he misses you very, very much.”

Her little heart found a lot of comfort in that assurance. She flashed her angelic smile and settled into the couch more comfortably, content in the knowledge that her grandpa knew about her; loved her; missed her.

Sometimes it’s so much better to sugarcoat a bitter pill.

PS: Down the road, in the present time, she’s eleven and asked me about him and wanted me to tell her how he died, how I felt, and how her father and his brother took it.

This time, I didn’t sugarcoat the pill. She was ready to hear about pain and loss.