Category: Eliott

Carter, Confessions, Eliott

Life with Eliott and Carter: A Year in Status Updates

The title pretty much says it all, and as I haven’t finished baby books for either of my children I’ll consider this the next best thing.  I promise, quotes have been recorded as delivered, likely within minutes of actual origination.

“Eliott, did you have any friends in your class this morning?”
“Yeah! There was the boogery one and the not-boogery one.”
Oh how I wish I could use such description in my personal life without offending anyone.
February 3

Eliott is learning to rhyme: “Napkin. Mapkin. Slap him.”
February 28

“Hey mom, you know what I’m feeding Lamby Lamb? Apple juice, green grass, and beer.”
Lucky Lamby Lamb.
March 3

M (losing patience): Eliott, are you brushing your teeth?!
E: No. I’m figuring.
M: Figuring WHAT?!
E: I’m trying to figure out how Jesus had a son named God.
March 4

“We got to have the ABC’s cereal, with the little marshmallows. But no milk.”
I can’t decide if it’s cute that my child has no idea what Lucky Charms are, or just sad.
March 16

Eliott’s version of Twisted Sister (a non-conformist in the making): “YES. We’re gonna take it! YES, we’re gonna take it! Anymore…”
March 21

Every time we get in the car my 4-year old requests Amy Macdonald on the radio, to which her sister always replies (singing), “E-I-E-I-O.”
March 22

M: Eliott, if we make chocolate pudding tonight, there won’t be any more milk for breakfast tomorrow.
E: Mommy, I would like to have water with my breakfast.  Does that sound fine?  That sounds fine with me.
March 26

Carter’s official first sentence: “I want this.” Let it be said, she knew before she was 2.
March 29

Elmo is making cupcakes on Dr. Oz.  Carter’s head is exploding.
March 30

Despite my pseudo death-lessons through balloons and refrigerator pictures, I’m just not ready to explain Bambi’s mom to Eliott.
April 5

Introspective Eliott: “If Carter dies, we might have to get a dog or a kitty cat.”
April 13

E: Anji’s skinny, Dragon’s skinny, Uncle Daniel’s skinny…
M: Am I skinny?
E: No. You are not skinny. Daddy’s skinny.
M: What does skinny mean, Eliott?
E: It means you have hair on your back.
April 17

“Hey Mom, you are fat as Jesus.” -Eliott Wait for president-
April 22

“I did not steal Carter’s money. I’m sharing all the money.” Eliott understands Socialism.
April 24

My neighbors are outside putting together a new basketball hoop as a family. Eliott just came in the front door and announced (unprompted), “Mom, that’s the Evil Stepmother out there.”
April 30

E: In one month it will be summer?
M: Yes.
E: That means, no more Clemmons house?
M: No. That means no more pre-school.
E: No more PRE-SCHOOL!? Oh no! I’m gonna die!
That makes two of us.
May 5

Eliott: But I don’t like being good, Mommy. I like being naughty.
Me: Why do you like being naughty?
Eliott (eyebrows shooting up and a crazy smile crossing her face): Because it’s fun! Being good is not fun. And we have no fun toys.
June 13

E: Well, then I smelled this one bathroom and it wasn’t even stinky. It smelled like princess.
M: What does princess smell like?
E: It smells like, good. It smells like steak.
June 23

Coming home from a week at Grandma’s house = “All my toys! I missed these so much!” (Not going anywhere in a hurry today. More coffee? Sure, would love some…)
June 24

Sisterly love or Jr. High dance pose? You decide. June 26


When I walked into her room this morning, Carter’s exclamation could be interpreted in one of two ways: “I toot!” or “I two!” Given that today is July 7th, I’m going with the latter. Happy Birthday Big Girl.
July 7

Made it to Knoxville despite the 4 going on 74 year old in the seat behind me announcing through every downpour, “We never should have left our house tonight.”
July 9

Watching Robinhood  or “Robin Neighborhood,” according to Eliott, who can’t understand how Prince John is a “boy queen.”
July 13

Discipline Tactic #14: “Child. DO you want a beating?!”
Carter Translation: “Bandaid? I need Bandaid.”
Fair enough.
July 26

This is what I call a successful morning. August 2

Child pooped on my foot this morning. That was a first.
August 17

Had to change my directions to the ever specific: Stop. Touching. People. Period.
August 19

Eliott at CVS: “Hey mommy, are these ear drops?” (Holding up a value pack of enema kits.) “It says you can either do them with your bottom up, or your bottom down.”
August 31

As Eliott brags to the older neighborhood kids about her new ability to ride a two-wheeler, she seems blissfully unaware that her shoes are on the wrong feet.
September 6

Eliott’s teacher when I picked her up at preschool this morning: “So, did Eliott dress herself today?”
Wondering what’s wrong with the Hawaiian dress and jean jacket I mumble a tentative yes, question-mark.
Teacher: “It seems she forgot to wear her panties to school.”
September 12

Things you might find yourself doing as a mother: reaching a gloved hand into the toilet because your 4 year old has informed you she thinks a toy just came out of her bottom.
September 13

Eliott's list of important people. September 29

You know you’re a good parent when your children fight over who gets to pray at dinner.
October 1

“I’m a grown up. I’m practicing being a grown up,” Eliott said as she worked with her plastic fork and knife. Then, with that ever smug glaze in her eyes (knowing she was doing something so grown up) she started belting out a tune from Yo Gabba Gabba.
October 2

Dinner table wedding discussion: “I can’t believe at Erica’s party that Dragon took Erica’s underwear off and just threw it. To all the people. Yeah.  I can’t believe that he did that.” – Eliott Wait
October 5

When she’s wearing jeans, Carter frequently experiences moments of frustration confusing her fly for a 3rd pocket.
October 6

How’s this for honesty?
“I bite Diego nipple.” -Carter Wait, after church.
October 11

Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face” comes on the radio and Carter starts cracking up. Then, from the backseat she starts singing, “Ba Ba- Booger Face.”
October 28

You have not known frustration, until you have attempted to put mittens on a 2 year old and gloves on a 4 year old, and actually get all the fingers in their correct places.
November 17

At the drive-thru to get my buy one get one Starbucks special and Carter yells from the backseat to the window (with authority): “I want chicken-uggets and chock-it milk!” She then repeated chocolate milk at least four times, emphasis on “chock-it” each time.
November 18

My genius 2 year old: Last night at dinner, Carter looked at Grandma Wait and said, “Grandma. You not boss!” She then smacked Grandma’s hand like a mommy disciplining a child. It took her point two seconds to realize her mistake and immediately recovered by smiling and announcing, “High five?”
November 23

Eliott: Mommy, I need to send Peyton a message tomorrow.
Me: Oh. You want to write him a letter?
Eliott: Yes, and do you know what the letter will be?
Me: What?
Eliott: E. But I need to send Peyton a message tomorrow too.
November 26

Before soccer practice:
Daddy: Okay, when you take their ball away, then what do you do?
Eliott: Say sorry.
It seems my daughter has inherited her father’s body and her mother’s brain.
December 12

Carter finishes singing in her pre-school Christmas program, comes back to sit with me and announces to a silent congregation from the second row: “Mommy.  Let me see your nipples.”
December 14

Yes that is play dough, hot chocolate, and dress up. Proof that fun does happen on my watch, despite my reputation for the contrary. December 16

On Christmas: The most fought over toy of the year has to be the Dirt Devil Jr I found on Craigslist last summer for about $5. Eliott was found down on her hands and knees just before church yesterday, “cleaning” under the stove with the hose attachment. Santa-mom wins again.
December 26

Dad: Eliott, you are getting so tall.  You have to stop growing.
Eliott: No!  I need to keep growing.  That’s how life works.
Dad: But I like you small.  Will you stay small for me?
Eliott: Well, no, I want to be tall.  I want to be able to reach things without using stools all the time.
January 1

Read Life with Eliott, 2010  here.

Carter, Confessions, Eliott

Memories

I have no scientific evidence to back this up but I’m guessing that the majority of a person’s early childhood memories are actually based off of pictures they’ve seen, rather than actual memories.  Because of such pictures, I assume I had a pretty happy childhood.  No body ever takes pictures of mom flipping out, bagging up all the toys in the basement, and hauling them to the curb.

This is why my own children will also look back on their childhood and assume it was both normal, and happy.

Me to twenty-five-year-old Eliott:
“This was pretty much a typical day around the house when you and your sister were little”:

Yes, those are leftover Halloween chocolates.
I love that she can do sprinkles without supervision now.
Meanwhile, Carter was working REEEAAAAL hard.
Carter, Confessions, Eliott

September October Blur

As September gave way to October, I found myself writing a check  for preschool yesterday dated 11-1-11.

What?!

Where is the Fall going?  (Actually, my mother is probably wondering the same thing, as I believe I’ve spoken to her on the phone a total of one hour plus six minutes since my sister’s wedding four weeks ago.)  And the truth is, I have no idea, except to say that my 2011 Things To Do list is finally dwindling, and not a moment too soon, by my calculations.

Eliott’s and my teeth have been cleaned, professionally, I got a flu shot, found a potential future baby doctor, made and then rescheduled an appointment for this year, and continue to nurse two children through colds which seem to be lasting  forever.  I have shopped for, ordered, sent, and continue to seek perfect baby shower gifts for the endless number of close friends having babies in 2012.  I have fought baby fever, lost, and priced maternity insurance for the upcoming year as well as the potential total cost for that plus pregnancy and delivery as a result.  (I have discussed figures with my husband who assures me the only way we can have a baby in 2012 is if I get a job or win a minivan on The Price Is Right.)

I am caught up on the first two seasons of Dawson’s Creek and have come to the conclusion that my fashion choices in high school and the first couple years of college, though exactly as bad as I remember them, were actually completely appropriate and I dare suggest, hip.  I have started reading three books, and have three angry Public Library emails in my inbox demanding the return of at least two of them.  Also, I read an entire textbook on the Old Testament.  Then I edited, updated, and otherwise creatively contributed to lesson plans for a new edition of the teacher’s manual…for teaching the entire Old Testament.  A book I am far less familiar with than, say, To Kill a Mockingbird.

So forgive my absence from book club, my spotty attendance at Tuesday morning church social/study hour, my no’s to the last three pre-school birthday party invitations, and the fact that we have enough pork roast in the freezer to last us the next seventeen days, but we’re totally out of butter and eggs.  I’m functioning on lists.  But the checking-off of items is happening in no particular order.

To recap the past month, I offer a few pictures, taken in rare moments of mental clarity (or not) by my trusty iPhone.  (And to think I ever debated the move to a smartphone.  Hah.)

Eliott got her ears pierced. This about sums it up.
One night the handle of the kitchen sink broke, just as I began the dishes.
John fixed it.
Eliott had RARE moments of helpfulness.
Halloween went about like this.
They became cuter with the prospect of actual candy (and yes, there were outfit changes).
Confessions, Eliott

Tonight’s Lesson: Metaphors

Sarcasm and figurative language. Two well-used, yet, still mostly foreign concepts to my four-year old. Obviously I didn’t give birth to an idiot. Eliott understands things in context and what she doesn’t understand, she’s especially adept at pretending to understand, but all of a sudden, her sense of literalism is getting the best of her (and me). I think her sudden questioning of things (like freaking out when she hears “Cady is in the car just dying to see you,”) is exactly half four-year-old-style-literal-reasoning, and half four-year-old-style-asking-questions-makes-me-feel-like-part-of-a-conversation.  I decided the easiest way out is to just introduce her to the term metaphor now.  For one, it eliminates lengthy explanations of the why’s behind figurative language.  Plus, I see it as a bonus, if not for her than for her future high school English teacher.  Grasping this abstract concept could effectively put her in the 90% percentile of her high school class, 10 years early. Tonight’s example:

Mommy, how come you never give me ginger-ale? You know Mimi let me have ginger-ale one time.

I know. I could kill her.

NO! Don’t kill her, she’s your mother!

Well. I wouldn’t really kill her, Eliott. It’s a metaphor.

Oh yeah. What’s a metaphor again?

It’s like, when you say something that you don’t really mean, in order to express an emotion for which there are no other words. Like, you know sometimes, when you and Carter are being really loud, I tell you to chill out or my head is going to explode? But does my head actually explode? Have you ever seen my brain guts all over the kitchen?

No! (I assure you she is giggling at this, not freaking out. Don’t call DSS.)

Yeah, but it feels like my head might explode, so I just say it will, and that is a metaphor.

Oh yeah. So tell me another metaphor.

Okay, maybe I say, “I’m so hungry I could eat the entire house,” but am I really going to actually eat the house?

No! (More giggling.)

Exactly. I’m just so hungry I feel like I could, but I really can’t. That’s a metaphor.

[Insert several more examples provided by me. Bedtime is beginning to feel strangely similar to 3rd period at public school. Then, it’s Eliott’s turn.]

Oooh, I know a metaphor.

Okay, tell me.

I say I’m going to go get a haircut, but I’m not really going to get a haircut. (Giggles uncontrollably.)

That’s a good one, Eliott. Do another one.

Okay. I say I’m going to go to the dentist, but I’m not really going to go to the dentist. (This time, whispers:) But I really am going to go to the dentist, so it isn’t a really a metaphor, but I’m just saying it is a metaphor.

[Pause here for my laughter.]

You are actually blowing my mind right now, Eliott. And that’s another metaphor.

Confessions, Eliott

Before Bed, with Eliott

About two weeks ago, Eliott started inviting me into her bed at night to talk about her day.  I swear this is something she completely made up; it was not in any way prompted by me.  Discussions start out much like the end-of-day pow-wow from the wilderness camp.  We talk about the good part of the day (“good” translated to Eliott as good behavior), the bad part of the day, the fun part of the day, the boring part of the day, and what we’re looking forward to tomorrow.  Then, the conversation often moves to more important life questions, philosophical ponderings, or princess fantasies.  (For instance, once she learned where Cinderella and every other Disney princess lives, she became suddenly interested in talking about Disney World.  Nevermind that I’ve never even been there, in her mind, I’m Cinderella’s personal paparazzi.)

Understand that through most of these late night discussions, she is also scratching my back, which is why they so often go on far longer than they probably should.  I figure, this is the one and only time in her life that she’ll actually like me, let alone scratch my back while she pours out her heart to me, so I’m maximizing on the opportunity.

Anyway, tonight’s debriefing was not entirely unlike any other night, for the most part.  But because I didn’t fall asleep during it, I had the mental capacity to record a few of the nuggets for which I so often listen to without response.

On Jesus:

“Eliott who are you talking to in here?”

“Oh.  I was just talking to Jesus.  About my bo-bo.  So he can heal it.  But Mommy, how does he heal it?”

“Uhh…”

“I mean, like, does he just look at it or does he touch it or does he have a machine or something?”

“Yes.  He can just look at it or he can touch it.”

“Well, I never see him touch my bo-bo’s.”

“That’s because he probably sends the Holy Spirit to do it.”

“Well I never saw the Holy Spirit.  What’s the Holy Spirit look like?”

“Remember on Charlie Brown, when Snoopy makes Charlie Brown invisible and you can’t see him, but he’s there?  Remember?  That’s what the Holy Spirit is like.”

“Yeah.  You know who the Holy Spirit is?  He’s Jesus’ invisible machine.”

 

On donuts and milk:

“Pop Pop can’t have a lot of milk because it makes him fat.”

“Who said that?”

“That’s what Mimi says.”

(After a short discussion about what “fat” means, insert my feeble attempt to teach Eliott about how to be polite in regard to this subject.)

Eliott’s very matter of fact response: “Well, I can just say, ‘Are you so fat because you have a baby in your belly, or just because you ate a lot of food?”

 

Carter, Confessions, Eliott

How to Get Rid of Stray Cats

Currently, this seems like one of those things I’ll never forget.  Because I hear it every night.  Sometimes twice.  However, from previous experience I know that in a year or two, this will likely become another one of those things that might as well have never happened.  (For the same reason I cannot hold grudges, I have learned I must write down all moments of cuteness when they happen.)

This is Eliott’s exact dinner prayer, every night it is her turn to pray:

Dear God.  Thank you for this day.  Thank you for this food.  And thank you for Mommy and Daddy.  Thank you for our jobs and thank you for our family.  And help us to get a job.  A-men.

That last part is carried over from the year John was about to graduate from Law School.  We figure, now, it could simply mean more clients, so we haven’t stopped her.  About two weeks ago, Carter decided she was ready to start praying at dinner as well.  At first, she copied Eliott’s words immediately after her, which of course made Eliott mad, and recite her prayer louder, which only made Carter raise her voice in response.  (The result was a little like a Pentecostal church service at the dinner table.)  Anyway, we’ve worked Carter into the dinner time prayer rotation.  Last night, her prayer was exactly this:

Dear Got.  Thank you for day.  Thank you…food?  Daddy?  (Incoherent noises including lots of spit.) No kitties.  Back yard.  AY-men!

Quick explanation: The outdoor cat who belongs to the neighbor behind our house knocked-up a stray who had her litter sometime last spring (wasn’t anyone listening to Bob Barker?!).  The stray, and the litter, frequently attempted to bed down in our swing-set playhouse, much to John’s and my dismay.  The last thing we need is worms in our sandbox, let alone a bunch of cats in heat right beneath our bedroom windows, know what I mean?  I for one am not much of a pet lover, and I hardly count cats as pets. (What John doesn’t know is that he might be getting a .22 for his birthday.)  Anyway, every time we see one or more cats in our backyard, John and I go the meal-time appropriate version of ape-shit.  I’m not sure if she’s on our side, or if Carter’s prayer is to save the kitties from Mommy and Daddy.  At any rate, between the two of us and the Holy Spirit, I’m feeling fairly confident we just might nip our little feline problem in the bud.

If that doesn’t work, my next step is a couple cans of poisoned tuna.

Confessions, Eliott

Things To Do

Despite the fact that Labor Day was two weekends ago and all the public pools are closed, ladies in North Carolina are still wearing white and the weather is still set to summer.  Today in the car Eliott asked, “Mommy, when does school get over?”  I’m thinking, kid, today was your third day, what’s wrong with you?  In reality, she was trying to get a mental grasp on the meaning of seasons.

From different half-hearted Mommy answers to any number of her one billion questions, she seems to understand that school starts in the Fall, that Fall means the leaves fall from the trees, and that she should be able to wear certain clothes that she’s been waiting to wear.  What she doesn’t understand is how the trees still haven’t gotten the message to drop their leaves, nor why it is still “too hot for tights today.”

I’ve given up on the long answer to things, as I’ve discovered my children will pretty much decide to understand anything they’ve made up their mind to be interested in, and, well, they take a lot more at face value than most give them credit for.  As a result, Eliott has now added “global warming” to her vocabulary list and has resigned herself to waiting until Mommy says it’s okay to wear tights to school.

Yesterday, when her teacher informed me that she had “forgotten to put on panties” under her dress, I had to bite my tongue from admitting that this probably wasn’t an accident.  For the entire drive home, Eliott kept asking, “But why do I have to wear underwear?  It’s hot outside.  I want to be liberating.  I like no underwear.  It feels good.  Why do we have to wear underwear, Mommy?”  At a loss, I finally just told her, “Because Eve ate the apple, and you know what, underwear is the least of your worries.”

I too seem to be a little out of sorts with the delay in seasonal change, despite the change in our schedules.  I can’t seem to get a grasp on my things to do list nor how to make the best use of my pre-school mornings.  Though I complained about our summer schedule (or lack there of), summer has lasted so long that my body refuses to get into the mode of Fall.

I was recently recruited by a former colleague to assist in a Bible curriculum development project for Christian Schools International.  Basically, we’re updating the textbook and teacher manual for a new edition and must be finished by December 15th.  (Correction: she is updating the text; I am acting as a sounding board, idea machine, and big picture editor.)  The task is by no means daunting, and I certainly have more than enough time to devote ten hours of my week to actual paid work, but somehow, every time I sit down at my computer to do what I normally do very well, I find myself immediately plagued by a mental list of hundreds of other things I need to do.  I keep adding to my ever growing list of books to read, and requesting them at the library.  As emails pour in announcing my holds are ready for pick up, I’m wondering when I’m going to have time to sit down and pleasure read.

I need to find a dentist and make appointments for the entire family.

I need to find myself a new doctor, and have my annual physical.

I need to go get my license renewed which expired on my birthday, a month ago.

I pulled about 4 years worth of children’s clothes from Eliott’s closet which need to be organized, priced, and tagged for a consignment sale next week.

I’m going to two weddings in the next month, one of which I have actual wedding party duties to attend to.  I was chosen to host a house party for the same weekend as that wedding and am wondering exactly where I can fit Johnsonville Italian Sausage into the schedule.

So here I sit, rereading my Suburban Mom List of Negligibly Important Things To Do, and because it is only 3:30 and dinner is already planned, I think I’m actually just going to go take a nap.  Why?  Because it is close to 90 degrees outside, and my body can’t help but believe it is still summer time.

Carter, Confessions, Eliott

A Lesson in Perspective*

I suppose I could preface this post with some sort of artistic commentary defining the brilliance of my 4-year-old. Unfortunately, I know very little about art.

In the way of introduction, all I really need to say is, keep in mind that what follows is an untouched, unedited, untitled, but certainly not unloved, gallery of pictures, captured by Eliott (and sometimes Carter) and downloaded directly from this:

*If The Blair Witch Project made you a little bit sick, consider yourself warned.

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Confessions, Eliott

Take a Number

People.

Old people?  Crafty people?  Or just people who work at JoAnn’s Fabrics?

I had a moment of creativity recently and decided to put my 8th grade home-ec skills to the test and make Eliott an apron which she can wear while painting or coloring with markers.  It has a little pocket to hold things, and when unworn, ties up in to a neat little carrying case.  I’m calling it an “Art Apron” and seriously considering opening my own little Etsy page (I know nothing about how this works so I probably didn’t even say that right) and selling these bad boys for $20 a piece.  Seriously.

Anyway, I had one of my rare good-Mommy moments, and actually took Eliott with me to JoAnn’s to pick out her fabric.  It was exactly as fun and exciting as you can imagine it would be for a 4 year old, and for once, I’m not being sarcastic at all when I say that.  Anyway, the minute we parked, dark clouds rolled in and I realized we probably needed to kill at least 30 but maybe 45 minutes inside because I did not have an umbrella.

We were two of perhaps nine people in the entire store.

After fiddling through all of the random treasures on the clearance rack for far too long, oogle-eying the crayola section twice, and touching every single bolt of pink fabric that existed, the brief thunderstorm finally seemed to be letting up.  Eliott settled on two surprisingly complimentary patterns and we were ready to go.  Though this may come as a bit of a shock, I actually know my way around a fabric store and I’m surprisingly comfortable with the whole measuring and cutting before buying part.  But I seriously wish I had been with someone other than Eliott to witness to the final order of events.

We approach the cutting table where one older scissor-wielding-woman is helping no one, but tidying up her space and talking to a younger, male associate (who, from his conversation and body language, seems to be as excited about the sale on some Cinderella blue fringe as Eliott would be).  I approach the table and make eye contact with the woman, holding my two bolts of fabric, and start to say, “I probably only need half a yard…” when she interrupts me with, “Just a minute, ma’am.  Did you take a number?”  She taps the little red box with the number strips poking out the front, possibly for the purpose of demonstration.

My face clearly reads, “Is this a joke?  I’m the only one here.  Or, is there some line I’m somehow missing, made up of one of the other eight people in this store right now?”  So of course I laugh a little.  When her eyes go from slightly annoyed to straight stern, I pull my number and take exactly two steps back.  She then informs me that if I have any other shopping to do (“Maybe you need some notions?”) I could take care of that over on aisle 14.

Clearly she’s unaware that my 4-year-old and I have already taken a mental inventory of the entire store.

“Nope.”  I say, trying not to smirk because I feel like a 7th grader again.  “Just need the fabric.  I’ll wait.”

At this point, Eliott declares somewhat emphatically and with certainly no concern for volume control, “What are we waiting for Mommy?  There’s no one here.”

“Excellent question, Eliott-my-four-year-old,” I comment to no one in particular.

I’m holding number 27.

Number 26 is lit up in red dots on the screen over the cutting table.  The woman puts her scissors in her adult-sized Art Apron pocket (I knew there was a market for these things), walks around the small counter in the center of the cutting area, and the number clicks to 27.

“27?”  She says a little too loudly, and actually looks around curiously.  Her eyes slowly pan back to me (who hasn’t moved), raises her eyebrows and says, “Is that you?”

I swear to you I had to bite my tongue to keep from squinting at my number strip and saying, “Nope.  Not me,” and intently looking around with her for the other number 27 in line.

Number 27? Is that you?
$20 Limited Edition
Confessions, Eliott

Verklempt

I sort of hate watching movies with John.

I have a little problem with my emotional involvement in movies.  It does not matter how dumb the story, how poorly made the movie, or even how bad the acting.  I cannot remember the last movie that didn’t bring me to tears.  In my life.  Movies always make me cry.  (There was likely at least one scene in “Something About Mary” and “Meet the Parents” that even got me watery, that’s how bad this problem is.)  And here’s the thing.  For the most part, I don’t mind it.  I actually enjoy getting emotional over a movie.  I don’t even care when it is a completely feigned emotion brought on by rainy first kiss scenes and heightened with teenage love music.

Obviously, when watching movies in groups, I prefer to be ignored, but I can handle the occasional snicker.  I can usually even block it out when someone taunts me with, “Wait a minute?  Are you crying?  This is making you cry?”  Now that I’m married, I don’t go to the movie theater much anymore, and since having children, I’m not watching movies with a lot of groups anymore.  It seems like my secret would be safe in the comfort of my own living room.  But does my own husband adhere to either of these unspoken social graces for me?  When I get to the scene (on my one-hundred-and-tenth viewing) in The Little Mermaid, when she hugs King Triton on her wedding day and whispers, “I love you, Daddy,” does he laugh at me or just pretend not to notice?

No he does not.

Instead, he makes weird little affirming coos and exclamations of how cute I am.  It is worse than being made fun of.  On a normal movie night, with lights dimmed or not, it usually starts with a few sideways glances, then progresses to full head turns.  A little smile (not even a smirk, but more like that endearing little smile a person gets when reading an unexpected love note) creeks into the corners of his mouth, and suddenly, I feel myself start to sweat.  “Don’t ruin this for me,” I’m willing him through my glands, “And stop looking at me.  Just let me have this moment to myself.”  His receptors never get the message.  If the mood isn’t completely lost simply through the knowledge that he’s gazing at me with the same affection given to Dalmatian puppies at PetSmart, he never fails to seal the deal with this: “Ohhh, honey.  You’re crying?  That is so cute.”

“Nope.  Not crying.  Just blowing my nose on my upper lip.  For fun.  It sort of tickles and I’m trying to see how long I can stand not to wipe it off.  Just a little exercise in self-control, thought I’d take a moment to work on it, considering my current runny nose, and everything.”

This afternoon I watched Tangled with Eliott.  Despite the fact that the 90 minute animated film –with a main character whose eyes are literally as large as lemons– was interrupted once by neighborhood kids at the door (and joining them for 30 minutes to ride bikes) and again by dinner preparation, it still managed to make me cry.  But then the most wonderful thing happened.  Eliott started crying too.  And not crying about something else, or because she was scared, or angry, or bored.  She was whimpering and oozing a real emotional connection to the characters on the screen.

And I did exactly what John does to me.  I sort of hated myself for it, but I just couldn’t help it.  It was the cutest thing, um, ever.  She crawled into my lap and we cuddled through the lantern release, the old lady stabbing the hot guy, the dramatic hair cutting, and the tear that saves his life (which Eliott clearly didn’t understand, evidenced by her question, “Is she sad because she lost all her hair?”).

The emotional moment was short lived.  A little later she came outside and we had this conversation:

Yeah, but how come he chopped all her hair off?

Well, her hair was magical and people were going to try to take her to steal the magic so he did it to save her life.

And he died?

Well.  Yes.

So how did her tears make him come alive again?

Uh… Because he’s her husband.  And she loved him so much that when she cried, he came back to life.

Oh.  One day, my husband’s going to die.

Oh yeah?

Yeah.  My husband’s going to die, and do you know how I’m going to save his life, Mommy?

(Would I ever like to know, Eliott.)

I’m going to take him to the doctor.  Yeah.  And he’ll be fine.

We may be emotional, but do not mistake that for stupid.  No.  Definitely no stupid here.